This morning, I attended my older daughter’s promotion ceremony and became the official proud mother of a fourth grader.
This calls for a poem,* wouldn’t you say?
I know just the one.
Robert Graves didn’t write many poems for children—he was known for his love poetry, among other things that belong in a completely separate post—but those that he did write have more substance than you might expect from poetry aimed small fry, and far fewer morals.**
I like this one. It can mean anything you want, or nothing, or everything—and the warning could mean “Here Be Dragons” in the best possible way or. . . not.
Mr. Graves just wants you to think for a minute or two before deciding whether or not to pull the string. Though I personally doubt it ever stopped him:
Congratulations, my beautiful, brilliant Janie.
Worlds await you every day.
_________________
*And possibly a stiff drink or two. If you think she was happy about no homework for two months, you should have seen the handspring I would have done if only gravity and physics haven’t been taking such keen interest in my physical exertions since I was in fourth grade.
**Which you may or may not have expected, depending on your knowledge of Mr. Graves. Mine is minimal, so I’m thinking he’ll have his own post soon.
Earful of Cider 