BIRTHDAY POEMS

Southland Times, Issue 20963, 21 December 1929, Page 22

BIRTHDAY POEMS

HAVE YOU NOTICED? Have you noticed how the flowers Turn toward the light, How they turn their dainty heads From the duller sight? Look, oh lovely, happy things Where the sun shines bright ! Have you thought, that we can learn Something good from this? We can learn to turn away From the dull and miss The gloom of sadder things. Sun will bring us bliss. We should turn toward the sun If our courage flies. Turn like gentle, lovely flowers. Peaceful, dose our eyes At night. Dawn again will bring A glad glad sunrise. —Cousin Jean Playfair (16), Gummies Bush, Riverton R.D. NIGHT. At night when I go to bed. I see the moon shine overhead. The stars they are a pretty sight. Like daisies in sky at night. And in the morning when I rise There’s not one star left in the skies They all are left in sleepy town And big Sun man is looking down. —Cousin Mary Fortune (8), Home Street, Winton. WHO? Who would like to roam with mo In quest of a lonely site, Where the winds are cool and soothing And the air is fresh and light ? Who would care to stay with me When that lonely site was found Far away from the noisy city With its bustle of life and sound? Who would linger with me As the shades of even fell Casting o’er that silent spot A peaceful, tender spell? Many that lonely site would visit And feel with me the spell Of soothing winds and shadows As evening softly fell. —-Cousin Doris Winder (17), 268 Tweed Street, Invercargill. SPRING-TIME. Up in the morning, I’m out for a fling, I’ll have a small dip, Then I’m down to the swing. Up I go high, Not so far from the sky, I would like to go higher If only I’d wings. Up in the morning, I’m down for a swing To hear the wild bir -| s, Sing their love-song of Spring. —Cousin Mollie Enright (16), Kapuka. RENDEZVOUS. "Where are you going to, my pretty maid”? "Away to the country, kind sir,” she said. "And maybe I'll milk the Jersey cow, Or take out tea to the men who plough. Or perhaps I saddle my sorrel horse, (I would if I had one, that is, of course) For I long for hillocky, grassy space, And the sting of a salt wind on my face. I'm tired of a dusty, shut-in street, And the ceaseless sound of scurrying feet. I long for the scent of new mown hay, And a thrush’s song at breaking day. I’m going to watch the sun go down Unspoilt by buildings and smoke of town. And I’ll watch the harvest moon’s soft glow I’ve longed for it all, so much, you know.” “So then you won’t come to the matinee”? She sighed and dimpled “No, not to-day But if perchance you could bring the car, And I might manage or coax papa, Why there’s a picture I’d love to see. (And if you didn’t you’d still have me!) So adieu, kind sir, to-morrow at eight. I will meet you here —if I’m not late!” —Cousin Daisy Ward (19), Awarua Plains. THE WIND. Rides a terrible shadowy foe, At the green city walls to-day. Rushing and storming out of the dawn-, A bitter and wild affray. Chariots storming the tossing plain, Rushing the bleak brown hill, Shouting for joy is the airy foe, The keening of wind is shrill. —Cousin Gwen Irwin (17), Lochiel. LiniiJxmnniiuiiiHimuiiLTnHiinHHiLHiinHLUiiiiu.LTHnnnTTrTii!in:i::i!;iir

BUTTERCUPS. Oh buttercups, you pretty flowers, Shining like gold, in the sunny hours, With your cup-shaped petals so sweet, Oh how could you be made so neat. Now when the day is closing, We’ll see your pretty heads dozing, And if we closely look, p'raps we’ll see a fairy bright, Shutting up your petals, for the night. —Cousin Amelia Whyte (15), Tuatapere, R.D. Lillburn Valley, Glifden. THE LARK. The lark she soars on highest wing. Her beautiful sweet song to sing Like a tiny speck up in the sky Higher and higher ever so high. Listen to the music of her song. Whispering of joyfulness all day long. Till evening closes and she hovers round. To rest in her nest down on the ground. —Cousin Ivan Fortune (10), Home Street Winton. BLOSSOMS. Sweet blossoms on the tree, Why do you fall so fast. Your beauty is a joy to see, And we’d love you to last. The leaves, they too have beauty, With colours, red and gold. I suppose it is your duty, Such beauty to unfold. The fruit that follows the flower, Is oh! so good to see. And when its ripe we soon devour, And leave a barren tree. —Cousin James Fortune (11), Home Street, Winton. I WONDER. I wonder if a fairy Should ever chance to be Sitting in the garden In the shade with me. If so, I wish that, fairy Would make my sums go right. I’d not have spelling errors. Do you think one might ? And then I’d hear the teacher Say “You’ve done well to-day, You may leave school early And run away to play.” —Cousin Audrey Seddon (10), Box 91, Lumsden. THOSE COWS. I’ll sing you a song for sixpence, Of a job where there’s always rows, With muddy bails and whirling tails, That job is—milking cows. When there’s mud up past your ankles And a chill in the wintry air. You’re sometimes sitting down to milk On a stool that isn’t there. One morn I went to milk a cow, I'd chased her in the bail, When a little mouse ran past her My poor old cow turned pale. Backing hastily out of (he shed, She trod on my frozen toes. In a rage I seized a crowbar And aimed it at her nose. She careered around the paddock With me in hot pursuit. And when at last I had caught her I kicked her hard -with my boot. Now I’ve sung you a song worth sixpence, With many thoughts and vows. About the work I detest the most. That work is milking cows. —Cousin May Heath (13), Dunrobin, via Heriot. LAND OF THE SOUTH. Dear happy South Land of the free Where one can see Prosperity. Dear land of Youth So gay and bright With laughter light And hopes in sight. Dear land of Sport, With .sunny days Of tempting ways And merry frays. Dear land of the South. With sorrow now And wrinkled brow Our heads to bow. —Cousin Doris Winder (17), 268 Tweed Street, Invercargill.