Poems by Bella

Where go you, Lad?
Is father still mad?
You meant no harm
Here, take my arm
and we will talk
and walk together
through the heather
to the island of sand.
Here lend me a hand
it is slippery and
we will assend to
the old kippery*.

In here we will explore
our eyes on the old wooden floor
which under feet did squeak and creak
and suddenly I was scared
but yet did he dare and
ventured forward.
And the lard smelt
strongly of fish
and my only wish
was to cover my nose
with a beautiful rose.

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I love art and take it to heart,
and to have a person faint
at a beautiful work of paint
would be enough I'm sure
to procure some lovely gold.
But as of yet, my hands are cold.
Your dreams of glory make me worry
Oh dear, it can't be helped I fear.


*A kippery is a place where kippers are prepared.