At the end of Flora and Ulysses, Ulysses the squirrel thinks how he wants to write poems—poems about horsehair sofas and vacuum cleaners and broken lamps.
And also, poems about little fishes.
Last week, I got a letter from Sarah who is nine years old.
She remarked on Ulysses’ intention to write about little fishes, and thought that it might be comforting for me to have a poem about them.
Here is the second stanza of her poem, “Little Fishes:”

“Little fishes
All in a heap
Prepared by a loved one
When you cannot sleep.”

Sarah, you’re right.
Your poem does comfort me.
Your words are just what I needed.
Thank you.

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