Miss five in her oversized school uniform,
Bag almost as big as herself,
Trundles out the school gate.
I hold her hand,
Which emerges from a rolled jumper sleeve,
Also too big.
Happily she climbs into the car,
Chatting continuously of her day,
She attempts to remove her shoe.
She should be concentrating on the seat belt.
I hurry her because we do not have time to spare.
The banter continues.
We are all buckled in and ready to go to dance lessons.
Miss six, the bigger sister and veteran of year one shares her days happenings.
I hear no other sound from Miss five,
Bar the heavy breathing of slumber.
The day has been too big,
Life too full and interesting,
And we are too tired to dance.
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