My first sonnet ⇒

Sonnet I

To a Preschool Teacher

Let us not to the preschool day Admit a bound’ry. Art is not Art which declares that a cat cannot be pink, Nor that flowers do not grow on clouds. O no! It is the place where little hands Are free to squish, to splash, to make great messes. It is the place where every 3 year old child, Whose mind stays free, although we try to box it, Can mold play dough to rainbows, trees and snakes That, sadly, adults cannot recognize But in their eyes is a perfect likeness And their teacher helps them celebrate it. They come, they play, they grow And it’s you who makes it so.