Whilst you and I were sleeping
And before the break of day,
A cunning thief stole upon us
And snatched the sun away.
He left instead wet mist and fog
That clung to hedge and tree;
A cloud, a shroud of clinging haze
To hide the things we see.
Its wave of mist engulfed us all
In dripping wreathes of gloom.
The only place it couldn’t creep
Was in the living room.
But, as the thief observed our grief,
He must have felt some shame,
So he brought the sunshine back again,
For HE didn't want the blame.
Copyright on all my poems
* Chosen by teachers and children and published in 2010.