When it’s winter, dark and cold,
And the clock hand points to eight,
Mummy’s voice comes through the door:
“You must get up, it's late!”
When it's summer, nice and light,
I’m keen to leave my bed.
“Go back to sleep. It’s early yet,”
Are words that I hear said.
So why are parents difficult?
I've thought of that before.
You want to sleep, they say it's late.
You want to rise, they snore!
On Christmas morn I want to rise,
My presents to explore
But if they hear me moving,
They'll be angry. It's a bore!
Another day, when I am tired
And want to settle down,
It’s: "Hurry, get your coat on now.
We're going into town."
When I am fast then they are slow,
And then the other way.
It's: "Please be quiet," "Stop that noise"
Or: "Go on out and play."
There are some days I really try
And go outside to play - BUT
"Come inside, say cheerio,
See you another day.”
The meal they've cooked, I do not want
And really cannot eat - BUT
"You won't get down before it's gone!
You’ll sit there on your seat".
Another time I'm hungry,
Eat up and ask for more - BUT
"You cannot have more ice-cream.
It will make your tummy sore!"
You just can't win with grown-ups,
No matter how you try,
But battle on and don't give up
Or run away and cry.
Copyright on all my poems
This was amongst the first poems that I wrote, and I certainly knew nothing much about metre, but it was one of many poems chosen by teachers right across West Yorkshire for publication in 2010. I hope you like it. I'm remembering my childhood for certain, although we seldom had ice-cream or sweets because during and for some years after the Second World War, there was rationing of sugar, so ice cream and sweets were a luxury for certain. You had to read under the bedclothes with a torch because there was no heating in our bedrooms. Josie