The Death of Another Wendy

a reflection on the discouragement of imagination.

Wendy sat and poured her heart out
Onto the kitchen tiles
She sat in curiosity
And poked it like a child
“Funny,” she remarked
To the bird sitting by her side
“I’ve just watched it breathe and move,
but look, now it has died!”
She put it in a little box
And then into the cellar
“I’ve made a mess of mummy’s floor,” she cried
I suppose I’ll have to tell her!”
Wendy was a clean and tidy girl
And cleaned it up as best she could
She scrubbed for days and weeks on end
But alas; it was no good!
When Mummy came home in April or May
She did not seem to know
Her daughter’s heart was beneath the floor
As she’d often wished was so
“Mummy dear!” the small girl said
“I cannot quite explain
how happy I am that you decided
you would come home again!”
These days Mummy is quite pleased
Since the death of the steady sound
Wendy no longer says a word
For her heart lies under the ground.