Just gone eleven but not far from three,
those days when she always copied me.
I'd turn around and she was there,
a smile on her face and never a care.
She was my shadow in frilly pants,
my little darling with sticky hands,
the funny little expert of the river dance
running about with her lady bird pram.
Our little baby with rosy cheeks,
that was forever under my feet.
My helper with hose pipes and pools,
yes, I missed her when she started school.
Now she's eleven, the pride of her school,
the sports captain and house captain too.
She the perfect prefect with badges to boot,
girls swimming champion, with records renewed.
You'll not see her swimming, she's really that fast,
maybe a glimpse of some ripples and a yellowish hat.
She?s as busy as a bee with one thing or another,
with enough cups and shields to fill a cupboard.
Next it's Gainsborough Grammar and different times,
catching the bus, both morning and night,
looking after big sister Georgina, won?t that be nice.
But Friday is different, we'll have much more time,
perhaps, we will be calling at Blyton, for big juice ice.
(But only if the weather is fine)