In childhood’s realm, where friends were few,
Beatrix did dwell, a story she did tell,
Beatrix and her brother, a curious crew,
With creatures wild, their hearts did sway,
animals galore, her heart did explore,
A nursery filled with creatures, come what may.
In solitude, young Beatrix found her kin,
a hedgehog fat, they had a real chat.
With creatures wild, she’d let her heart within,
No childhood friends, but animals, her guide,
as a kid, you see, animals made the best company,
In their company, her soul would often hide.
With snakes and salamanders, lizards too,
a world all their own, in her heart, had grown.
Rabbits, frogs, became characters in stories true,
In her letters to friends’ characters came alive,
her tales began to bloom, imagination’s room,
With tales of her pets, adventures to derive.
As youth gave way to adulthood’s grace,
an opened gate, in her words they’d celebrate.
Inventing narratives, she found her place,
in 1901, she self published 250 books of Peter Rabbit
Beatrix Potter ever bold, Her tales she knew needed to be told,
Turned down repeatedly by publishers as was their habit.
For in the simplicity of a child’s gaze,
she spun her art, she played her part.
Her words found warmth, in genuine ways.
WoPoLi 
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