In the Antipodes, where I have ties
The chill of winter, bland 'tis true,
With the winds of change is blowing through...
Wee Thomas, hurtling fast to four
Will new prospects soon explore
His room, decked out with toys and clothes
In mirrored cupboard that he knows
And «coat of many colours» rug
Where he receives his goodnight hug
Will in a while be his no more
He'll move into a room next door.
Dad's study, where he earns his crust
Will be converted, as it must
To big boy Thomas's domain
So his future sister can't complain
She has no room to call her own
Just nine more weeks till she comes home;
Anticipation is the key
Soon to be four, but right now – three!
(c) Poet in the woods 2017
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