A poem for children about friendship, getting angry and being sorry. |
Dot Dot is her name, and that's what she does. When you see dots, then that's where she was. She makes dots on the floor, She makes dots on the wall. She makes so many dots, you can't count them all. She puts dots on the dog, she puts dots everyplace. She sneaks up on me and puts dots on my face! I should not have said it. I had such a bad day, I got mad at that Dot, and I yelled, "GO AWAY!" "I'm tired of you, Dot!" "I'm tired of your face!" "And I'm tired of your dots all over the place!" She hung her head down and erased all her dots. And all the way home I was thinking bad thoughts. How terrible to be with not even a dot! What about leopards, and dogs named Spot? And how would you know if you had measles or not? Not an i would be dotted, Not a sentence would end. And that's not the worst - I lost a good friend. I needed that Dot, whether I knew it or not. And I missed that Dot. I missed her a lot. I went to find Dot. I said, "I was wrong." "Okay," she said, "From now on - I'll put my dots, where dots belong." Dot is still here, I'm happy to say, still making dots the very same way. Sometimes her dots go Where dots should not be. Just as long as her dots Don't get on me! |