OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 21 December 1929, Page 8 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

HURRY UP PETER. (Sent by Fanny Stockman.) My parents always tell me I Must hurry, and hurry, and hurry, I often wonder and wonder why, Then worry, and worry, and worry. "Go to bed, Peter,” it’s after eight, “Get up Peter, or you’ll bo late” — “Come my boy, you mustn’t wait,” I don’t understand, do you. They never think that I have far More serious things to do, Sometimes I must wash my car, Or maybe mend a shoe. But they’s after and after me all the day, To drop my toys and stop my play, And do some silly thing right away—--I don’t understand, do you? It must be nice to be awfully old, Anri do what you want to do, And never stop because you’re told, Just play the whole day through. And not have a single soul who cares, If you’re in the garden or upstairs, If you’ve cleaned your teeth or said your prayers, Oh, gee! I wish it was true. PINE-NEEDLES. (Sent by Edwin Furborough.) When Mother Nature patches The leaves of trees and vines, I’m sure she does her mending, With the needles of the pine. They are so long and slender, And sometimes, in full view, They have their thread of cobweb, And thimble made of dew. THE VISITOR. (Kent by “Clematis.”) Old Mr. Fox, one winter day, When fields were white with snow, Said to himself: “I’ll go and pay A friendly call or so. “I’ll visit Master Bunny, he Is such a friend of mine! Perhaps he’ll then come home with me, I’ll ask him in—to dine.” Now Benny Blue-tit was a chum, Of Bunny’s; he looked out, And saw old Fox so slyly come, And gave a warning shout,: Wise Master Bunny didn’t wait, To wash his face, or pack, Or put a notice on his gate, To say when he’d be back. He scuttled off, as you behold, Across the sunny snow, While Benny Blue-tit stayed to scold, Till Mr. Fox was glad to go. MY VISITOR. ('Sent by “Hyacinth.”) The other day ’twas raining, And it was very cold. There came a little robin, Who seemed so pert and ‘bold. He tapped upon my window, And said, “And how are you?” I’m very fond of robins — I wonder if he knew. When I went to the window, To say to him, “Good-day,” I think that he was frightened, For then he flew away. I wonder where he went to, Out in the cold and rain? I’ll leave the window open — Perhaps he’ll come again.

THE CHILDREN’S HOUR.

(Sent by Fay Peters.) Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to low’r, Gomes a pause in the day’s occupations, That is known as the “Children’s Hour.” I. hear in the chamber above me, A patter of little feet, A sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamp-light, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper and then a silence, Yet I know by their merry eyes, They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall, And by three doors left unguarded, They enter my castle wall. They climb up into my turret, O’er the arras and back of my chair, If I try to escape they surround me, They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of. Bingen, In his mouse tower on the Rhine. I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you into the dungeon, In the round tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumple to ruin, And’ moulder in dust away.

MARGARET.

(•Sent by “Jonquil.”) Clambering into the walnut tree, Tossing its smooth green treasures fiee, Brown as the crinkled nuts is she Margery. Frock and fingers with juices wet, 0, what a scolding she should get) Kisses instead we give the pet ■ Margaret. .

A CHRISTMAS PARTY. (Sent by “Mushroom.”) Such doings took place you’d hardly believe, In a greengrocer’s shop late on last •Christmas Eve, A funny fat pumpkin jumped up and said, Let’s all have some fun, and he stood on his head. “Hooray!” cried the onion ’mid cheering and shouts, And the cabbage waltzed off with gay Brussels sprouts, The French beans spoke French that was like double Dutch, And the artichoke choked, he was laughing so much. The runner beans ran from this counter to that, The coconut stood on his head on the mat, The vinegar bottles stepped down from their shelves, And danced with the capers, who capered themselves. They kept up the fun till the dawn of the day, And however they did it I really can’t say. But at six o’clock they were all in their places, With never so mueh as a smile on their faces. MOTHER GETS THE ’FLUE. (Sent by “Billy Bobtail.”) When Mum awoke one morning, with a heavy, aching head, She thought she’d better take a spell, and have a day in bed. So Dad got up to light the fire, and called the children, too. And told them all to bustle round, for Mum had got the ’flu. The noise they made was dreadful, as they jumped and ran about, Then John came in to see her, with his jersey inside out. Mum lay back, and closed her eyes to ease her aching head, But one by one the children came, and (stood beside her bed. Father says the stove won’t go, and none of us can fix it, The baby wants his bottle, and we don’t know how to mix it. Lucy can’t tie up her- shoes —she’s broken both the laces; Father wants a button on to fasten up his braces. Freddy’s lost his stockings, and w’e don’t know where to look, We’d like to have some breakfast, but we don’t know what to cook! So mother thought she’d best get up and see what she could do— It didn’t seem convenient for Mum to have the ’flu. IN THE MOONLIGHT. (Sent by “Hyacinth.”) Come, see how entrancing, The fairies are dancing, How nimbly they’re prancing, O’er each grassy mound! By moon newly risen, We see their wings glisten, We watch, and we listen. But hear —not a sound! At movements so stealthy, And splendour so wealthy, We mortals, so healthy, In wonder may gaze: While fairies in flowers, Cull dewdrops in showers, To make their gay bowers, With jewels to blaze.

A BOY AND A DOG.

('Sent by Fay Peters.) When I see a boy who hasn’t a dog, Or a dog who hasn’t a boy, I think what a lot they are missing, Of frolic, of gladness and joy. Some parents think dogs are a nuisance, Just something to bark and annoy, They can’t know how badly a boy needs a <log> Or how sadly a dog needs a boy. MOTHER’S TABLECLOTH. (Sent by Alice Edgecombe.) “A shabby old cloth!” did you children think, With its threadbare spots and its patches of ink; With its flowers of many impossible hues, Which “run” in the wash! reds, yellows and blues! W“A shabby old cloth!” but it looked so fine, _ .. In my nursery days when it first was mine; I spread on it saucers, and cups for three, Teddy Bear, Alice, my dolly and me! “A shabby old cloth!” but a schoolgirl link, Is forged in my heart, by the blots of ink, And time weaves round it a memory tale, That "rag” you would send to a “jumble” sale!

THE NIGHT WIND.

(Sent by "Golden Fleece.”) There’s someone tapping at the window, There’s someone whispering at the door, There’s someone creeping through below "there, And lifting up the carpet from th© floor. "Shuh,” what a crying and a moaning, "Hist,” what a racket and din, "Ho,” such .a roaring in the chimney, ’Tis the night wind; trying to get in.