“THE POETRY LASS”

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 714, 13 July 1929, Page 15

“THE POETRY LASS”

I have often travelled the shining road to Happy Town, when perhaps you have not known. This time as 1 trod the road and filled my arms with dew-wet violets, which peeped like purple stars among the tender green of the leaves, the Poetry*Lass came by. She is black-haired and dark-eyed and red-lipped, but her skin is as white as the whitest snow. She wears a long, flowing gown, on whose colour I can never decide. Sometimes she is clad in a rich, warm scarlet, with scarlet blossoms in heihair, and then her eyes glow with a wonderful passion, and she comes with the rushing sound of the restless wind. Sometimes she wears blush-pink, and then her eyes are like dreaming pools, while she moves softly, whisperingly. At other times she is in green—a pretty, fairy-like green, and her eyes are all a-dance. Then I know she is as lighthearted as the breeze in summer. Joan Brookfield, aged 12. A TRIBUTE The Little Thought is a quaint wee elf— The Dawn Toady’s mascot, the Sunbeams’ delight; A joy to everyone, including himself, And his smile is always so gay and bright. Long may he reign where the love flowers bloom, In Happy Town garden, fragrant and sweet— The Dawn Lady’s mascot, but dear to us all, AVlio have traversed the magical Tiptoe Street. Elizabeth Christine. “BOUDOIR” Wo have a little canary named “Boudoir.” He was called that because the top of his head ik brown—just like a little boudoir cap. He is like me in one way, too, for he loves open windows, and the fresh air, sunshine, green grass and trees. There is a huge tree just outside our house, and I know his little heart throbs with joy as he gazes out, at it with all the sparrows twittering merrily in its branches. Sylvia Woodhouse, aged 11. OUTDONE Winnie: “Bid you know that uncle has been round the globe three times ?” Willie: “No, but that’s nothing. My goldfish goes round the globe about it hundred times a day.” Sent in by E. Stone. WRECKED I The sea is smooth (a fairy said). ! I think Ul go afloat. A poppy-petal was his sail, i A cockle-shell his boat. Alas! alas, a storm arose, The fairy soon was wrecked. He’s living on an island now. Like Crusoe, I expect.