D. was a boy whose poems always took a pleasingly unusual view. When asked to write about a time of day, he wrote down '3.15 Friday'. 'But' I asked him, 'is that 3.15 in the afternoon or at night when you're not sleeping?' He seemed more interested in the latter and quickly got down to writing a brilliant middle of the night poem. It's nice to know that the tradition of childhood nocturnal reading continues - you just don't need a torch now...
I can't sleep! Lorries, tractors, cars rumble by
as people deliver pigs and come home
My stripy pyjamas are sweaty and rough
and rubbing on my leg.
I remember reading my Kindle
underneath the quilt.
The secret is mum and dad don't know.
D. from Wilby Primary, Year 5