My Son the Poet
Nature
There is a soft wind
Trees gently swaying rocking
Deer walk quietly
--written by my nine-year-old
My sons enjoy nature alright until BEES! Then they run screaming into the house.
Poor bees.
There is a soft wind
Trees gently swaying rocking
Deer walk quietly
--written by my nine-year-old
My sons enjoy nature alright until BEES! Then they run screaming into the house.
Poor bees.