I spoke to an 87 year old patient at the hospital I volunteer at today. We discussed poetry, and I read ‘Daffodils’ by William Wordsworth to him. I’d heard of Wordsworth before, but hadn’t realised that he had a sister called Dorothy. I much prefer hearing poetry out loud, instead of reading it silently in my head. There’s something about poetry being read by someone else that just makes the meaning of the poem clearer.
I don’t have a favourite poem. I do, however have a favourite rhyming book: The Gruffalo, I have a slight obsession with The Gruffalo. I even wish they had Gruffalo socks in my size. Every time I go into Hamleys, I stand still and drool (figuratively) over all the Gruffalo cuddly toys they have, attracting strange looks from the kids trying to get past me.
I love The Gruffalo, and I don’t care if it makes me uncool. In my head, I’m cool. I’m as cool as an icy cucumber in the Arctic… Yeah, not cool.