Beautiful baby contests in magazines often have snaps of children up to about four - proper little Shirley Temples some of them - which I find weird. Anyway this is a poem about an older child at nursery school.
BOTTLED SCHOONER
They pull the masts up with a string,
so simple when you know a thing,
but I was last in Mrs Watkin’s class
to see the ship had not sailed through the glass.
So simple when you know a thing,
enchantment melts like snow in spring;
I see the schooner as it has to be:
a wooden model on a velvet sea.
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