ORIGINAL VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 21073, 3 May 1930, Page 22

ORIGINAL VERSE

The holidays of the two weeks before this meant that our last two pages were so cramped and sadly cut .down, that it will take us a week or two to get back to normal. As you know, my dears, Ido not like delaying the appearance of your work in the page, and already I find that this week’s page could almost be filled with the poems and stores left over from the last two weeks. And I want these to be used this week before any later contributions, of which there is a goodly number. That is why I am omitting all criticism of them, although I believe that one of them appears among the “left-overs.” I don’t ever remember having such a progressive band of verse-makers before as I have at present. UP IN THE TOP OF A WILLOW. Up in the top of a willow tree, When the sun is rising high, And the little clouds of pink and gold Puff over the Summer sky; That is the place where I’d be, little bird, If you'd lend me your wings to fly. Up in the top of the willow treK With the green leaves all round, And pussy catkins would brush my face As they laughingly dropped to the ground. Oh, heaps of friends I should have up there, - The bees, and birds, and sound. Up in the.top of the willow tree, With the sunlight fading fast, And the flowers nodding about my feet When the gentle day was past; Oh, I’d sit in the top of the willow tree Till the great sun sank at last. Pill the poppies and daisies about my feet Closed up their petals bright, Till the humming and buzzing of bird and bee . Changed place with the stillness of night, And far away in the distant grove The night-owl began his flight. > Up in the top of the willow tree, When the sun was blazing down, And all around in the willow tree Flitted the insects brown, Each one trying with patience still, His neighbour’s voice to drown. Up in the fop of the willow tree In the rough and stormy weather, Up and away in the cool and shade When the sun blazes down on the heather, Up and away, on a bright Spring day For my heart is as light as a feather. —4 marks to Cousin Pearl Staitc (12), Lumsden. AUTUMN GOLD. The golden sun smiles On old Mother Earth,' Sending his rays To fill each things with mirth. Golden leaves falling, Lie on the ground, And float through the air With a soft rustling sound. See the corn ripening, Golden as day, Gold are the sheaves That are piled in the dray. Golden crysant hemums, Blooming so fair, With what a sweet fragrance They perfume the air. ' —± marks to Cousin May Heath (13), c/o Messrs Cameron and Finn, Tuatapere. A RAINY DAY. A sad and silent dawn doth creep Across the sky. No dress of gay, Bright shades, does she to-day adorn, For here on earth the Rain Maiden Is tripping lightly to and fro. At window panes she gently taps— She stamps and tramps upon the roof, And glitters on the nodding flowers, On cobwebs fine, she sprinkles drops Of sweet, refreshing rain. Oh, how She does enjoy herself! But why— Oh why do people grumble so? She plashes round, and then she laughs! “I’ll send stray raindrops down their necks. Ho, ho!” The Rain Maiden is not Without her friends. The ducks, they splash And quack a jolly welcome; plants Drink in the rain; the farmer tells Us of his crops that will do well. The children run away to school And watch the rain that plays outside. And soon the sun comes out again, With golden sunbeams everywhere. The Rain Maiden doth dance away. —4 marks to Cousin Hazel Stewart (15), 270 Ythan street, Invercargill. Cousin Robert Matthews has made a splendid beginning as a verse-maker. “The Owl’s Playtime” is very good indeed for a first attempt. The second verse loses its rhythm through over-crowded lines, and I don’t like “a-dawning.” It’s not natural to put “a-” in front of verbs or parts of verbs, now, is it, Robert ? Then why do it in poetry, which is just natural expression in rhythm. I hope you will semi me more soon. THE OWL’S PLAYTIME. When the sun is sinking, The stars begin to keek, The little owls come out to play Their game of hide-and-seek. “To whit! To whoo! To whit! To whoo!” Say the. little owls to each other. “The daylight is a-dawning now, So we must go homo to mother.” —1 mark to Cousin Robert Matthews (13), Mandeville. BUNNY’S TROUBLE’S. Mr Rabbit’s life Is not very bright. He’s always in a strife, To live—he has no right. It’s run, rabbit, run, For here comes the cars. To keep clear —is fun; If not—you’ll see stars. Naughty folks have set, And even made furrows; So watch for the net, So close to your burrows. The rabbit’s rough spin Makes work for man; It’s a price for his skin And a stew for his pan. —2 marks to Cousin Margaret Macarthur (11), Ohai. MY PEN. ‘ You mean st) very much to me, Although you are so black and wee; I point you lightly to my page And my thoughts you write for me. What could I do without you, To write the things I long to, To put on paper everything My head is always telling you. Oh, pen, you write the joyful times, The sad and bitter ones as well; - I’he happy hours I’ve spent with you, My tongue and you alone can tell. —4 marks (o Cousin Doris Winder (17), 26S Tweed street, InrercaTgill.