OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 22 November 1930, Page 8 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

(Sent by Gladys Reid.J Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Make our earth an Eden, Like the heaven above. SIN LITTLE CHICKS. Six little fluffy chicks, See them follow Mrs. Hen, Around the yard and back again. THE SUN AND RAIN. Down falls the pleasant rain to water thirsty flowers. Then shines the sun again to cheer this earth of ours. If it should always rain, the flowers would be drowned, If the suu would always shine, no flowers would be found'. BIG STEAMERS. (Sent by Phyllis Peters.) 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 your bread and your butter, Your pork, and mutton, eggs, apples and cheese. And where will you fetch it from all you' big steamers? And where shall I write you when you are away? We fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec and Vancouver, ’' Address us at Hobart, Hong Kong and Bombay. THE RABBITS. (Sent by Betty Morrow.) The little, furry rabbits, Keep very, very still, And peep at me across the grass, As I walk up the hill. But if I Venture nearer, , To join them in their play, A flash of white and they are gone — Not. one of them will stay. THE NEW PENNY. (Sent .by Merle Druce.) “Bull’s eyes are awfully nice, “And cocoanut-ice a treat; “I’d like a doll, ( “Or a parasol, “Or a ginger-bread mouse to eat. “Oh, my! What shall I buy ‘‘With my nice, new, shiny penny? “An ice-cream block, “Or a new silk frock “For Mabel, my doll;” says Jenny. “Bull’s eyes and ginger-bread mice, “And ices are nice to eat. , “But I’ve just thought of a splendid plan— . ■ * ‘l’ll buy a packet of pins for Gran, “And a bundle of tape from the poor blind man,- ; “Who stands at the end of the street!” A POPPY SONG. (Sent by Berys Burrell.) When the sun comes peeping, Baby Poppy wakes herself, Twists herself and shakes herself, Throws aside her greeny bonnet With the silver down upon it; Says good-bye (to'- sleeping When the sun comes peeping. When the bees come wooing Lady Poppy crowns herself, J • j Nods her head and gowns herself In the prettiest of dresses, Scarlet crinkled frillinesses, . j [ Knows what she is doing . When the bees come wooing. ’ When the wind comes calling, j Mother Poppy shakes herself, ( Brown and crinkled makes herself,, < Opens little 'windows wide, , Drops her babies down outside, Sees them softly falling ' When the wind comes calling. ’

PERCIVAL PORKER.

(Sent; by Joyce Welby.) Percival Porker has lost his coat and goes about all bare. There’s wool on a sheep and hair on a goat, but Percival’s tail is a question note, Still asking Why and where? WINDY. (Sent by Vera Ellis.)" Windy, Windy, how you shout, Blowing hats and trees about. Slamming doors with might and main, Knocking on the window pane. ' Yet, to one so very rough, All this noise is not enough. Who’s that /gruffly growling? Hark! Is it in the chimney dark? Yes; it’s Windy! Just his joke, Coming down to puff the smoke. All around us while we play— Windy’s very rude to-day. Windy, when the night has spread, All its darkness overhead, And th© sun no longer beams, We shall hear you in our dreams Calling, calling loudly still, Through the wood and o’er the hill; If you have lost your way, then this is plain. Wait till daylight comes again. A LITTLE SHOE. (Sent by Vera Ellis.) When morning broke a time ago, This tiny shoe was seen With laces tied, a pretty bow, And all the leather clean. But that was while our baby lay Mid pillows soft and deep, And roamed in dreamland far away Among the flowers of sleep. And now each dusty spot will tell Of bright and happy hours; Oj) show where baby’s footstep© fell In search of fun and flowers. THE BABY. Isn’t he sweet?—the darling mite! Nurse him carefully, hold him tight. It would never to for a baby small To have a horrible, nasty fall. So nurse him carefully—hold him tight. BUTTONS. (Sent by Vere McMillan.) Dicky is a darling, But his buttons are so many That I find it hard to draw him; I wish he hadn’t any. LITTLE SISTER. Baby darling, give me a kies! The sky is bright and blue, The sun is kissing the small white clouds, And I want to kiss—you! THE LITTLE BROTHER. \ I call my brother Baby, My Daddy calls him Jim, (But Mummy has a hundred thousand Different names for him 1,

“J. DON’T SEE WHY—” (Sent by Eileen Richardson.) When I play school wiv’ Ted<Jy, An’ Bunny, 'Puss and Nell, I teach them all their lessons, An’ make them 'have as well. But I don't see why Mummy Should make Ale learn to read. If I’m busy teaching others I'm sure that there’s no need. I teach them ABC and sums, ' ” An’ make them say “Yes, please,’’ An’ sit up straight at table,. An’ ’member not to tease. But Mummy says that it’s no.use, 1 Unless I do the same. But I don’t see why I should be 1 The one to take the blame. s CAN YOU GUESS? o (Sent by Eileen Richardson.) What is the difference between a baby and a shoe?- —One you, wepe and the othere you wear. ’ Why are stockings like mice?—Because they run into holes, of course. 1 What famous singer has a bad tem- . per? —A kettle. 1 What is often put on the table and cut?—A pack of cards. 5 _____ JUMBLED GIRLS’ NAMES. 1 . i (Sent by Mavis Stanton.) Lysphli. ■ ' . ,' ' Dnaeph. ■Sebty. ; Teeinrahc. • , Inaakl. Tfiha. Roermjai. Ggype. TO RAISE A LAUGH. ' (Sent by Marion Curran.) Tom: “Where did you put your father’.s book?” ' Don; “In the bath, for he said it was too dry for him, now it is. wet.” (Sent by Gladys Bailey.) “Look out, Mary, you’ll drop the baby.” , . “Oh, that’s all right. Papa says he’s a bouncing baby boy.” Visitor.- And how old is your baby, dear ? Small Sister: He isn't old at all; he’s a this year’s model. Squire Perkins: Nell, after I die, I wish you would marry Deacon Brown. Nell: Why so, Hiram? Squire: Well, the Deacon trimmed me ou a horse deal once. GONE BEFORE. (Sent by Rosina Dennis.) Gently she laid the still white form ■beside those which had gone before. No sound disturbed the stillness of the place. Suddenly a piercing shriek which seemed to well up from the depths of her throat, and die away in sobbing gurgles. Then silence. Then another shriek, more heart-rending than before. Then she left the place. She would lay another egg td-morrow. GIRLS OF LONG AGO. MARY. Nobody knew her name, but, by com- ' mon consent, she. was called Mary. ‘ When'the Flemish merchant saw her 'ying by the canal in the old town of Bruges, he touched her with the point ' of elegant leather shoe, and she l»tld up J her hands as if to protect herselff The ‘ merchant spoke to her in three languages before she was able to answer him l in a mixture of French and English. She 1 had come, she said, with' the soldiers; but, as she was only three years old, she a could explain nothing. She had evi- J dently strayed from some ruined town, t “You are very dirty,” remarked the i merchant. “’Tis useless, no doubt, to ask you what has become of -your 1 mother?” Mary merely smiled, and trotted after him; soldiers or elegant merchants were all the same to her. In a narrow, cob-

bled street the merchant halted beside a stately house where the magnificent tapestries he sold were made. Then, telling his work people to give the child something to eat, he promptly forgot all about her. The Flemish weavers allowed Mary tp live in the cellar and gave her food. When the child saw the vats of coloured dye and the lovely tapestries stretched on frames, her little finger© twitched. She longed to‘get hold of some of those bright wools. At the age of five she began to earn her living as a tapestry maker, learning to draw trees and animals, and'to paint pictures for the others to copy. One day in the year 1430, 4vhen the Duke of Burgundy married the Princess Isabella, and the fountains of Bruges poured forth wine and rosewater, Mary pushed her way into the palace where people were allowed to stand in the gallery and look down upon the banquet. She was eighteen now, and b-r eager eyes took in every detail of that sumptuous wedding feast. When a live ram 1 with its-fleece dyed gold stepped out of a great pastie, she- heard the young man beside her exclaim in English. She turned? and looked at him. “I have forgotten that language,” she said. He told her that he was an English merchant buying tapestry in Bruges, because English work-people could not dye wool such lovely colours, nor draw designs. “There are many young men who would come and teach you,” replied Mary. “And I can draw the pictures.” And that is how Mary and a little band of Flemish workers went to England with the young merchant, and dustrv.

started what soon became a famous in-