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dimpled creativity (Scenes from childhood)
by Anne Howe
Fiddlesticks, how I loved you
Little brown man
Molded by tiny hands
Lovingly created and fondly gazed upon
You were my friend.
All too soon the lesson was over
Time to go home.
in a box you were placed
With thirty one other creations
Destined to become one big blob
of Harbutts brown plasticine.
Only the peculiar fragrance remained.
I sniffed my little fingers..
and sniffed them again.
Now only memories of Fiddlesticks
And the day I created and lost, a friend.
10/18/2001 Posted on 10/18/2001
Copyright © 2025 Anne Howe
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 04/22/04 at 06:37 AM Poor Fiddlesticks! When I was a little girl I remember a doll and the smell of her hair...lovely poem here about the creation of something tho shortlived...alive in your memory. |
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