Ginge Reads

The moon just as paper when a torch sines behind, A puppet display with characters from the mind. The stars how they wink, it's that alien again! Yet it moves and you spot that it's just an aeroplane. At the end of the rainbow, a pot full of gold! With leprechaun guarding, or so it's been told. While a stick in a forest is magic to own, And a rock from the seaside, a dinosaur bone. A monster which lurks to make dinner of me, Just shadows of clouds that float in the sea. Then fairies who leave a gift from their dance, Just a circle of mushrooms that grew there by chance. Vampires will get you and soon they will bite, Or is it those bugs that nip you at night? And then there's the dust that Santa Claus drops, A pot full of glitter you see in the shops. The world can be strange, and seem upside down As an adult grown up, with no mystery around. Imagination dwindles, the magic may fade, But children will teach it's just magic mislaid. Pho

They came swimming into the harbour with the morning tide, a flurry weaving in and out of the buoys and knocking against the old boats. Like a school of fish two miles long and wide. They moved as one, some afloat, some submerged, some pushed beneath even the seaweed, tumbling through the watery maze. No direction, no purpose, just a will to travel the world. Some had been exploring the waters for years, while dozens of others were new to the flock. It didn't matter their shape or size - the sea didn't discriminate. Sat atop the harbour wall licking half melted ice-lolly from their fingers, children pointed for their parents to see. Such a dazzling display of faded colour! Worn off with the salt but visible still. In they threw the little wooden stick, which was quickly surrounded and disappeared into the mass. The fishermen retreated, their nets newly full of the tricky stash. Quite impossible to ship. Whilst on the other side, holiday makers simply picked up their towels