We were waiting in the car – in a car park
by a river in spate – for mummy, daddy
and grandma to return. Storm driven rain
was tattooing on the roof but we
were snug playing I spy. ‘What next?’ you said.
‘How about singing me a song?’ I said.
You said, ‘I don’t know what to sing,’ I said,
‘So, let that be the first line of your song.’
We spoke of rhymes and repetitions.
And she made her song by the rushing waters,