I had. book of poems as a child and I loved it. It dropped to bits through constant and probably none too gentle handling. I adored the pictures that accompanied the poems, the spider and the fly, Summer morning, January brings the snow. I've never been able to remember who the book was by, only the picture on the cover. Well I've found it on Amazon, second hand and I'm going to order it. Is it unreasonable to be so happy about an old chore a book?? I'm one happy bunny 