In Verseland.

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 192, 16 August 1939, Page 18

In Verseland.

MARY. (Sent in by Ray FriPml, GlPn Murray, Tunknn.) When Mary wore the Enjrlirsh crown, Old England still held Calais town, But e'er she died, to Mary's pain, Old France got Calais back again. Now for some cause obscure and qnee Mary held Calais far more dear Than all "the rharminjr Enjrlish towns Between the Cheviots and 'the Downe.

she. to those who triel To soothe her grief, and heal her pride, "You'll find when T this life depart, 'Calais' engraved upon my heart."

A truly touching thought, but who Could say for sure, if it were true For no one in those Tudor days, nad vet discovered the X-rays!

THE MYSTERIOUS POOL. (By Eleanor MeKinnon, IR.. Mount EdeiO Far, far within thp forest, TCeath a sloping hill.

Of trees so preen there lies A pool so large and still.

Tts wafers never seem to move, Its waters, dark as night, With lilies mirrored there. Like stars so cold and white.

Far below, so very far, If you do forward lean. The outlines of green reeds, May faintly there be seen.

A pebble dropping downwards. Does break the surface grim, And there's a mist of bubbles, And a foaming at the ri*

EARLY SPRING. Folded in the darknesß, the flowers lie eo At ill, The llmvers lie so still.

Snowdrop, and primrose, yellow daffodil. Waiting, and listening, in their deep bed, Waiting till the spring comes, dancing overhead.

When they hear her footstep, when thoy hear her song, Never a one remembers, that winter was

so long. Did you get the signal, pass the word around, Up they come, tip they come, Laughing from the ground.

PUCK. (By Eleanor McKinnon, 18., Mount Eden.) Little Puck, sweet Puck, Little Lord of Laughter. Dancing time and day away, On Fake and field and rafter. Joining up the cobwebs, Riding on the bee. Riding with the night moths, With mirth and melody. Singing with the pixies. Whistling in the night, A flute a-twixt your lips, ■ A magic one, bright. Skipping with the elfins, Swinging on the reeds, Planting in the garden, Pollen dust for seeds. Oft you tip the milk jug, Oft you mix the jam, Or puff and blow your cheeks, The kitchen door to slam.