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When Gail Shaw was three she picked up her cat, gathered some words, put on a big hat. Starting with little words, she soon added big ones, Playing with rhyming words and zig-zaggy-zig ones. The words were like music--and she grew and she sang Until she was grown up, with yin and with yang. She married, had children, and moved more than twice And thought now and then that a poem would be nice- A silly poem, one with a sister and brother who might live on their own without father and mother. They'd have some adventures. Perhaps an odd aunt? And maybe some big words that children could flaunt ...