I cannot remember a time when  I did not write poetry. I can remember finding this in my daughter's book when she was  7:-

       'It is snowing, it is glistening,

        It is time for Jesus' christening'

and thinking 'chip off the old block!'.

There will be poems from other sources too,all acknowledged.

We Regret to Inform You

I wrote this poem in school in1944(I was16)

We Regret to Inform You

Mrs. Tom sat quiet in her worn brown room

With the photographs of Jimmy smiling down at her;

Two on the dresser, with the teacosy Aunt Ethel made

And the silver apostle-spoons,and the best cups and saucers

With blue and green flowers painted round the edge:

(Not exactly what I would have chosen,said Aunt Ethel

But very nice, of course

-Are you sure the paint will wash?),

Three on the wall over the fireplace,

One of them taken when he was a baby,

Before Father died,

And one of them blurred because they were laughing together

(He was always a little silly, said Aunt Ethel, I told you no good would come of it)

And one held tight between her withered hands,

A little one of Jimmy when he was at school,

With great brown eyes full of wonder

(There's not much of you in the boy, said Aunt Ethel,

His eyes are very like mine)

And his hair in blond wisps round his ears.

Mrs. Tom sat quiet in her worn brown room

Holding his face in tired old hands,

Stroking the rumpled hair......

(No, she never even cried,said Aunt Ethel,

From behind a great white handkerchief:

Never said a word;

Im afraid I feel worse about it than she did:

I feel as if I had lost a son:

No thankyou,Mrs, Brown, no more tea

-Well, if you insist....)