I dreamed of a marvellous child,
A clever and lively young thing,
Who made, with incredible grace,
Drawings of summer and spring.

Both seasons she brightly pictured
With strokes of consummate art.
I sat alone in the classroom
With a captured, curious heart.

What was I seeing before me ?
Where would her wizardry end ?
Could I perhaps be dreaming ?
Should I confide in a friend ?

Then she painted a million petals
And made them fall to the ground
Where they buried her work of art
Without making the slightest sound.

She vanished. I went next door.
A man came out of the crowd.
He wore an old blue dressing-gown.
And was wrapped in a smoky cloud.

Marcus Cumberlege