As a father of four, I often find scraps of paper lying around the house, the output of my kid's imagination - crayon sketches of weird monsters and Nintendo characters, strange couplets involving cheat codes and comic balloons, mostly indecipherable.

Over dinner tonight, I found a drawing leaning against the salt cellar, with some writing on the back, and when I asked, my second eldest son Jack said it was his - a poem about an imaginary world. He's 7 years old, currently with no front teeth. I wanted to share it.

Slugs will fly, Birds go slow, Paths will go high, Rainbows stay low. Gravity is gravy, Doughnuts eat people, And - well - people don't have a long life.

Isn't that precious? Of course, this is also from the boy who became the talk of the First Grade mother's club by declaring that: