... in fifth grade (It seemed appropriate for this snowy month):
The Old House
The old house on the hill
is ever so still
as a cold, cold wind whips toward it
The old house sighs
as a little mouse cries
for winter has begun.
We had a student-lit magazine in those days called The Writer' Cramp, and The Old House was my first published poem. (The most recent one was a Valentine's Day haiku I wrote for a Boston Globe contest about eight years ago.) I wrote a lot of poetry when I was a kid, and gave most of them to the school librarian, Mrs. Hickey. She died around 10 years ago. I've visited her grave a few times; she was a really nice lady. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever met a librarian I didn't like.