While I babysat him and his sister yesterday, my grandson Ollie asked what I was doing. I told him I was writing a special kind of poem. A first-grader, but he knows what poetry is. I tried to explain a haiku. He started writing and counting on his fingers, and I found out he had focused on the “seventeen syllables or fewer.”
little feet pitter-patter
Ollie’s “haiku” (as he wrote it) for Mamo:
I love you.
You are nice.
You play with us.
You love us.
You help us.
Sixteen syllables, by the way, and he had old Mamo here reaching for the tissues. 💕