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When Hettie Norman
rolled down the bank
into an amazing bed
of stinging nettles,
she didn’t half shriek.
It made me feel weak.

She kicked her way out
with a shout
at the top of her voice.
Then crying with dread
and looking bright red,
ran all the way home, screaming.

I ran behind kinda’ close as I could.
She wouldn’t wait,
screamed through her gate
her skin spotted red.
I knocked on her door
and her mother said
“poor Hetties in bed”.

Sally Plumb

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