If: a poem

If I were a little girl again,

I'd go to the Billy Goats bridge.

I'd peep underneath at the ugly old troll,

then tiptoe across like a thief.

If I saw a black sheep amongst all the white,

I'd ask, 'Where did your woolly coat go?

Did you give it the little girl, master or dame?

Won't you miss it when winter brings snow?'

I'd talk to the dicky birds sat on the wall

and say to them, 'Please won't you stay?

I'm desperate to meet you and know your 'real' names

But you always fly off, far away.'

I'd find Mother Hubbard sat by her bare cupboard

And tell her, 'Go out for a stroll.

You'll find mushrooms and berries, and apples so sweet,

then you wouldn't be hungry at all.'

I would watch the Pied Piper across the high field,

with his two trusty pals Meg and Bess.

With a yell and a whistle, the flock's moved along,

with the sheep looking less than impressed.

I would play hide and seek with the squirrels and mice

among tree stumps, gorse bushes and trees.

I would lie in the meadow and soak up the sun,

and find pictures in clouds on the breeze.

If I were a little girl again

I'd seek magical creatures and places.

Then I'd write my own stories for children to read,

and enjoy the delight on their faces.