YOUR STORY: A poem to celebrate 50 years of Play School
Welcoming stairs ascended to a radiant door, legs of timber on the floor, children's footsteps reveal no hesitation, inside, a world of imagination.
Paws open as wide as life, always getting into loads of strife.
Stories as delightful as the all-enlivening sun, games providing so much fun, pigtails parted like a stone from a sling,
An empty headed bimbette that didn't know a thing, a rumbustious shell as green as a four leaf clover, rather prone to falling over.
Two white mice as cheeky as a young bantam cock, crawled over the island under the Flower Clock.
Imposing shapes of wondrous glass, children's thoughts unable to pass.
Floating like a colourful balloon, the circle took you to the moon.
Boxes and cubes and houses to share, everything basically resembling a square.
With the love of fountains you would march, through the peculiar looking arch.
Your window like a lucid dream, depending on a certain theme.
The owls eyes extremely lazy, the mud from the puddle covered Daisy.
The oink form the mud rarely heard, the cat more interested in catching a bird.
And as the rocket clock blasts into outer space, the paper plate continues to make a face, whilst the songs provide a pleasant noise, the children continue to match the toys.
Capturing the colours of the rainbow, making crafty things to show.
The wheels on the bus just keep on turning, like a never ending web of learning.
She'll be coming around the mountain soon, and when the play school clock turns noon, a half of a century will have ticked on by, to celebrate a show that will never die.
By Mark Wilson