OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 2 August 1930, Page 8 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

THE VILLAGE SMITHY. (Modern American Version.) (Sent by Dorothy Bilski.) Under the spreading chestnut tree the village smithy stands; The smith, however, isn’t there, with horseshoes in his bands. I"he weather-beaten sign is gone, Now there's a new edition, Which says: “Garage; oils, gasoline” And “Expert Mechanician.” When we were boys we watched the sparks go flying towards the roof, And sniffed the fine aroma of hot iron on a hoof; But never horse comes limping In these days to be new-shod; The one-time smith is fixing up a loose connecting rod. We used to love to watch him beat a waggon tyre and weld it, And while it dimmed from white to red wo wondered how he held it. But now the anvil’s sold tor junk, the sledge and chisels rusted; The smith is busy tinkering a vacuum • feed that’s busted. The horse-and-buggy days are gone; They will return no more; And yet the one-time blacksmith does not yearn for days of yore. “The flivver has a lusty kick,” he says, “but as a rule, It doesn’t slam you in the slats as did the farmer’s mule. “Full-many a day I’ve toiled and sweat to shoe a fiery steed, And had him bite me in the neck if he was off his feed. But now I am a specialist in every motor trouble, And while my task is half as hard, my daily income’s double. ’ THE MOONBEAM’S VISIT(Sent by Alfred Dudley.) As I got into bed last night, All sleepy-eyed and dreamy, A moonbeam tapped the windowpane, And said she’d come to see me. Then in she flew and whispered low, “I’ve hurried here to greet you. Good evening and good night, my dear, I’m very pleased to meet you. ’ And that was all she had to say. Then, through the windaw leaping, She flew to other- children’s beds, And left me gently sleeping. CHILDREN. (Sent by Ethel Batley.) Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open |hc eastern windows, That look’ towards the sun. Where thoughts are singing swallows, And the brooks of morning run. In your hearts are the bird and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklets flow, But* in mine ifl the wind of autumn And the first fall of snow. Ah! what would the world be to tvs, If children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood. That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a 'brighter and sunnier climate that reaches the trunk below. Come to mo O ye children I And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our And the wisdom of our books, when compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead. AN ADVENTUROUS NIGHT RIDE. (Composed by a Tink, Lionel Pennington.) Into the copse there rode a knight, From the grandeur, out of sight. Through the bush his horse went on Carrying his master brave and strong. As each step his steed did take, Little he knew of his future fate; Still on and on he plodded hie way, Eagerly waiting the light of day. Suddenly through the still of the night, A shot rang out, as a challenge to fight. The savage aroused had prepared for danger, Was all alert at this mounted stranger. The knight drew his pistol from his side, Prepared for the fate of this venturous ride; From his horse he quickly leapt, While stealthily the savage crept. The rider presently heard a rustle, And sprang at his foe with all his muscle; He seized the weapon from his grip, And replaced the pistol at his hip. Back to his horse, he rode away, Just approaching the break of day* Out of the woods, and into the light, He conics to the end of this ventuous . night. TO-DAY. (Sent by Margaret Franklin.) We cannot change yesterday, that is clear, . Or begin to-morrow until it is here; So the only thing left, for you and for me, Is to make to-day as sweet as can je. THE CHILDREN'S SONG. Land of our birth, wc pledge to thee Our love and toil in the year to be> When we are grown and take our place As men and women with our race. Land of our birth, our faith, our pride, For whose dear sake our father died; O, mother-land, we pledge to thee, Head, heart, and hand through the year to be. SPRING. (Sent by Berys Burreb.) There’s something in the air, That’s new, and. sweet, and rare, A scent of summer things, A whirr as if of wings. There’s something, too, that’s new In the colour of., the blue That’s in the morning sky Before the sun is high. And till this changing tint, This whispering stir and hint Of bud and bloom and wing, Is the coming of the spring.

IN THE CARPENTER’S SHOP. (Sent by Eileen Richardson.) “Life’s a hard grind,” said the emery wheel. ••It’s a perfect bore,’’ returned the auger. “It means nothing but hard knocks for me,” sighed the nail.® ■■'You haven’t as much to go th rough as I have,” put in the saw. “J can barely scrape along.” complained the plane. “And I am being constantly sat upon/* added the bench. “Let’s strike,” said the hammer. “Cut it out,” cried the chisel; “Here comes the bci-S,” And all was silence. A HOLD-UP. (Seui by Pat lie Watson, j Dear Mr. Policeman, lei me come by do: Dear Mr. Policeman, I atn s o fond of you, I’m in a dreadful hurry, I really must not wait, Please'let me by, you dear old thing. Or else I shall be late. A FALSE ALARM. (Sent by Merle Druce.) There’s'a noise in my bedroom as soon as I dare . ; I peep from the bedclothes; but no one is there. • Hello! what was that? Santa Claim. I suppose, And tremble in fright from my bead to my toes. There’s a tap on my pillow quite close to my head, J And in terror J dive to the loot of the bed. Hark! a noise in the chimney--he’s going away, And yet I’m too frightened, to ask him to stay. The heat is appalling --it’s burning my toes While two icy lingers lay hold of my nose; Then I throw off the bedclothes and wake with a scream; But no one is there—-it has all been a. dream. THE SPIDER. tSent by Margaret Franklin.) The .spider weaves lii«3 silver wire Between the cherry and the brier. He runs along and sees the thread Well fastened on each hawser-head. And then within his wheels he dozes, Hung on a thorny stem of roses, While fairies ride the silver ferry Between the rose-bud and the cherry. VERY BUSY.. ‘ (Sent by Wyn-Frid Hunt.) I've got a little dust-pan, I’ve got a little broom, I’m goin<r to do a lot of work, And°tidy up the room. I’m wearing mummy’s apron, I’ve pinned it round about; There’s such a lot of dust that, comes From moving things about. There’s water in my bucket, To wash the dirty floor, And when I’ve polished up the grate I shan’t do any more. IF YOU SNEEZE ON MONDAY. (Sent by Tom Coupe.) If yon sneeze on Monday, you sneeze for danger; Sneeze on a Tuesday, kiss a stranger; Sneeze on a Wednesday, sneeze for a letter; Sneeze on a Thursday, something better; Sneeze on a Friday, sneeze for sorrow; Sneeze on a Saturday, see you sweetheart to-morrow. FAIRIES EVERYWHERE. (Sent by Mavis Ileuson.) Fairies in the meadows, Fairies in the air, Fairies in the deep sea , Fairies everywhere. AH the world is full of them, If you only look, For fairies weren’t born, you know,., In a child’s story book. BIG STEAMERS. (Sent by Elsie Rookcs.) “Oh, where are you going to, all you big steamers, With England’s own coal up and down the salt seas?” “We are going to fetch you your bread and butter, Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese.” “But if anything happened to all you big steamers, And° suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea?” ••Then you’d have no coffee or bacon for breakfast, And you’d have no muffins or toast for your tea.” A EUN NY GAME. (Sent by Rex. Woodley.) Golf’s a very funny game; I never got it right. You buy a ball for half-a-crown, Then knock it out of signt. You hunt around in weeds and thorns, And find it in its den, And take a club and try to knock Jt out of sight again. PUZZLED. (Sent by Winnie King Hon.) I peeped into a shining thing To see what I could see, And there right close beside me, Sat a puppy just like mo. lie stared at me, I stared at. him, Wc sat still as could be, But when I cocked my ear at him, He cocked his ear at me. I touched his nose and it was cold— All puppies are, I’ve found. But when I barked at him, he barked, But never made a sound. Although I tried a dozen ways I could not closer get, But where he came from, where he went. I haven’t found out yet. HOW TO MAKE A PENWIPER. (Sent by Clemency Western.) Now that you are all back at school you may like to make a penwiper. It is easily made out of odd pieces of black wool. Cut the lengths of black wool B o that they reach from the tip of the head to the lowest part of the feet. Tie up the body first, then slip through the chest the hank of wool serving for the arms. Tie up the legs, arms, etc., and sew on black or white buttons for the eyes.' Make a mouth of white wool. ' 5 !