My five-year-old grandson, William,

Has a fine way with words, it seems.

He knows how to create a sensation,

He knows how to go to extremes.

Today, he put his ‘grandad biscuit’,

Into the pocket of his jeans.

‘,

Later, the crumbs were all over the car!

I was driving a mobile crumb machine!

“My biscuit literally exploded, grandad,

Like nothing you have ever seen!

The bits went here, the bits went there,

My ‘grandad biscuit’ went ev’rywhere!”

“In this mayhem, Will, did you tidy up,

And put the small pieces into a cup,

In this scene of biscuit catastrophe?”

“I left them all there for you to see,

It’s your job to sweep them up, actu’lly.

In explosions there are always casualties!”

 

A poet doesn’t take decisive action,

He merely describes the situation.

Sweet William’s a poet in the making.