OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 9 August 1930, Page 8 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

(Sent by Winnie King Eton.) Work while you work, play . while you play, That is the way io be happy amt gay. Whatever you do, do with your might. Thing’s done by halve.- are iic.cr done right. Ono thing at the time and time done well.. ' h the Lest <>f ail rulin'. a* .--Ainy can tell. Moments are useless when frilled away, So work while yn work and play white you play. THE RAINBOW. (Sent by Violet Dryden.) ; My heart leapt; up when T beiiold [ A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now ] am a man So be it when I shall grow old. Or let me die! The child is father of the man And I could wish my days to beBound each to each by natural piety. A SUMMER SHOWER. (Sent by ‘•Little Red Riding Hood.”) ‘■Hurry!” eaid the .leaves; ‘‘hurry, birds, hurry! See how the tall trees are all in a flurry!” •‘‘Come under, quick, grasshopper, cricket 1 ” Said the leafy vines down hi the thicket. ‘•Come here.,” said the rose to bee and spider; “Ant, here’s a- place! Fly, sit beside her!” ’ “Rest, butterfly, here in the bushes, Close by the robin, while the rain rushes!” “Why, there is the sun! and the birds are singing . Good-bye, dear' leaves, wo’il all be ■ winging.” - . “Bed,” said the -rose, “thank yon for calling! Come in airMn when the rain is falling,” SKIPPING. I (Sent by Ellis Harrison.) Skip, skip, skin! Up you go, and down yon dip, Over the rope and over, Skip, skip, skip! Along the road and back again, Or further, to meet the evening train, When dad conies home from his city trip— And I don’t care how Jack Frost may nip, For it keeps me warm to skip, To skip, skip, skip! APPLE SEASON.' (Sent by P. Mackay.) When the apples arc in season Tn the summer and the spring. Where there’s everything in reason From the peasant to the king. If you’re tired of being wealthy, And of kicking up a dust, Take a turn at being healthy. And of living on a cruet. There the money grows upon the trees. And you can pull your share. There's never need to take degrees. To get a college chair. DON’T THROW STONES. (Sent by Mabel Smith.) Roys don’t throw stones! That kitten on the wall Sporting with leaves that fall, Now jumping to and fro, Now crouching soft and low. Then grasps them with a, spring ■ As if some living thing. WINDING WOOL. (Sent by Wyn-Frid Hunt.) Holding wool for sister dear. Rosy apple lying near, Little hands some work can do, Helping sisters, mother too. In your cradle, dolly dear, Go to sleep while I sit here; There’s the pretty Christmas tree, Looking down at you and me. Two legs, on which I stand, Two feet, with which 1 walk. Two rosy lips, to kiss, A tongue, with which I talk. Two little ehubby arms, To put- round mother’s neck, When o’er my cot she bends, At night, and when I wake. FIRST THOUGHTS—AND SECOND. (Sent by Meile Druce.) I sometimes think I’d like io be A bird, and live high in a tree; To soar about the deep blue sky. And o’er the house-tops gaily fly; To wing my flight from place to place; The merest speck in airy space; With little need To learn to read, And labour till my mind grew sick Of spelling and arithmetic. And yet when twilight comes along, And'chilling winds begin their song, And rattle every window-pane, And all outside is drenched with rain, I’m rather glad that I am me, | And not a birdie forced to be, ) With ne’er g roof t That’s waterproof. | To keep him sheltered from the storm— Tucked in as I am, safe and warm. THE WITCH. (Sent by Mavis Adams.) I saw her plucking cowslips, I marked her where she stood. She never knew I watched her While hiding in the wood. Ker skirt was brightest crimson, And black her stee.plc hat, Her broomstick lay beside her, I’m positive of that. Her chm was sharp and pointed, Iler eyes were —I don't know, For when she turned towards me I thought it best to go. AUGUST (Sent by Beatrice Jjhnnions.) This is a month when you mustn’t ■ forget That, though it’s net raining. :t’s sure to be wet. PANCAKES. (Sent by Olive- Karalus.) Someone's making pancakes — The girdle’s on the grate; The bowl of batter’s beaten up, So I am going to wait Until the work is over, /End there perhaps will be Among the brown and speckled OBW'.Jj A j r ellow one for ma.

POOR JIB! (Sent by Walter Clarke.) Poor me! Here J. am stuck fast; Nobody takes any notice of me. I wonder if I will have to stay In this bucket for the rest of my life; 1 wonder if they have forgotten my dinner time; I wonder why I hey always feed my silly sisters first. 1 wonder if it would have been better To have made me a keeper instead of a cub, THE KING'S BREAKFAST'. (Sent by Amy Burrell.) The king asked the queen, and the queen asked Hie dairymaid, ••Could w<* have some butter for the royal slice of bread?” The queen asked the dairymaid, (he dairy mand said; ■‘Certainlyl I’ll go and tel] the eow, now, before she goes to bed.” The. dairymaid she curtseyed, and i went and told the Alderney, i “Don’t forget the butter, for the royal slice of bread.” The Alderney said sleepily, “You’d better tell His Majesty, That many* people nowadays like marmalade ins toad The dairymaid said, “Fancy,” am] wont to Her Majesty, She curtseyed to the queen, and she ; turned a little red. “Excuse me, your Majesty, for taking! of the liberty, I But marmalade is tasty, when its very • thickly spread.” The queen said, “Oh!” and went to j His Majesty. j “Talking of the butter- for' the royal ■ ■slice of bread, > Many people think (hat marmalade, :s : nicer. ! Would you like to try a little mar- j malade instead?” I The king said, “Bother!” and then he ! said, “Oh! deary me!” ‘ Tile king sobbed, “Oh deary me,” and j went off to bed. “Nobody,’’ he whimpered, “cou'd call 1 me a fussy man, But I do Uke a little bit of butter ' on my bread!” ” » The queen said, “There! There!” and 1 went to the dairymaid. ; The dairymaid said, “There! There!” and went to the shed, j The cow said, “There! There! 1 didn't j really mean it, • ‘■Here’s milk for his porrenger, and! butter for his bread.” ; The queen took, the butter, and brought it to His Majesty. The king said, “Butter, chi’’ and bounced out of bed. “Nobody,” he said, as be kissed her i tenderly, “Nobody,” he said, as he slid down the : bannisters, • “Nobody, my darling, could cal! me a i fussy man, | “But, I do like a little bit of butter ; for my bread.” j THE YODELLING YAK. J (Sent by Ronnie Winstanley.) There once was a yodelling yak, Whose friends gathered round in a pack; When they wanted to know Whore he got all his blow. He airily said, “It’s a knack!” MY-SELF A TREE. (Sent by Joan Bevin.) , Sometimes when I lie all alone Upon the grass, and still as a stone, I feel as though a fairy could Turn all my body into wood, My hair to leaves, my hands and feet To branches full of blossom sweet. The more I lie the more .this me Turns from itself into a tree, And lies there rooted till too close Come cries of my loud playfellows. Then with a wrench I rise and run Myself again, the tree undone— But all my hair a leafy fan, As thought it were a tree that-ran. URAB APPLE. (Sent by Barbara Thompson.) 1 dreamed the fairies wanted me To spend my birthday night with them all, , And I said, “Oh! but you’re so wee,I'’ 1 '’ And I am so tremendous tall, What could we do?” “Crab apple steml” Said they, and I was just like them. And then, when we were all the.same; The party and the fun began, They said they’d teach me a new game Of “Dew ponds.” "I don’t think .1 can play that,” I said. “Crab apple blue!” Said they, and I could play it too. And then, when we had played and played, The fairies said that we would dance; And I said, “Oh, but I’m afraid That I’ve no shoes.” I gave a glance At my bare toes. “Crab apple sweet!” ? Said they, and shoes were on my feet. And then we danced away, away Until my birthday all was done; And I said, “I’ll go home to-day; And thank you for the lovely fun. I’ll come again.” “Crab apple red!” Said they, and I woke up in bed. SPRING SONG. j (Scut by Catherin Johnson./ Spring is coining, spring is coming, Birdies build your nest; Weave together straw and feather, Doing each hie best. . - , Spring is coming, spring is coming, Flowers are coming too: Pansies, lilies, daffodillies Now are coming through. .Spring is coming, spring is coming, All around is fair, Shimmer and quiver on the river; Joy is everywhere. WILL 0’ THE WISP. Will o’ tli-e Wisp is a tricksy fay, Who flits over hill, over dale. Swift through the sunshine, and nimble at night, ’ With a Petcr-Pan-Lantern goldenbright, Goblin of mischief, wee Elf of delight— He swings on a dragon-fly's tai). Will o’ the Wisp is the Fairies’ friend, He flutters about and around. When Mortals come prying to magic dells, ' Peering and trampling, through forests of spells, Will o’ the Wisp rings bin shrill warning hells— ■ And drives them to everyday ground. Will o’ the Wiep is a roguish sprite Tn tunic of gossamer gold. And if you should meet with him anywhere, Mow him a khs In a greeting fair— He’ll sing you a lullaby sweet ae air, !' That 'the Stars and the Moon hav« told!