OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 14 February 1931, Page 20 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

A HOLIDAY SONG. (Sent by “Star Rose.”) Here’s luck to all Daily News’ friends, That hail from far and near, And to our lovely boy Billikins, The best of -holiday cheer. May Tinker Bell soon return to us, Refreshed and fit and well, And wield her friendly pen once more, The better for a spell. Here’s health and joy to Wendy, And her band of merry Tinks, And may they keep the Empire firm With sturdy little “links.” May Miss Pam and Mr. Peter Have everything they need, And also little Margaret dear, Wendy has to clothe and feed. May butter-fat go up and up, And rents and rates go down, Till we can greet each settling day Without a sigh or frown. And now I’ve just one other wish— If I could have my way, The cows would just milk themselves On every holiday! THE SPEEDWELL FAIRY. (Sent by Marie Rowe.) Clear blue are the skies; My petals are blue; As beautiful too, As the bluest of eyes. The heavens are high; By the field, path I grow. Where wayfarers go, And “Good speed” say I. “See, here is a prize. “Of wonderful worth, “A weed of the earth “As blue as the skies!” SUNDAY CHILD. (Sent by Merle Druce.) Little Baby Margaret Was born on Christmas Day, And on that morn, three Fairies Came to the house to stay. They fed with her at meal-times, And sang her off to eleep; They told her lovely stories, And gave her things to keep. And when she walked with Nanny, They exercised their wings To show her nooks and crannies, That teemed, with fairy things. They dried all tears that gathered, And made her laugh—and . yet, , Nobody saw those Fairies But Baby Margaret! TRAVELLING. (Sent by Merle Druce.) Great-grandfather rode in a stagecoach Ever so long ago, Over rough roads in the summer, In winter-time over the snow; And when someone invented a railway train,/ ■ He shook his grey head, you know! Great-grandfather rode iff a stagecoach, But grandfather took the train, And Daddy can drive his motor, And I’m for an aeroplane; And when somebody’s born who is younger still, There may be new wings again!

CLEAN FACES. 7 (Sent by Mother’s Fairy.) The sun rose early, and called to the \ flowers To wake up and open their eyes, So they stood in their places, With morning faces, All smiling up at the skies. Some round, some starry,, on long green stalks. Their petals clean, washed in dew. The wild-rose briar, And the fox glove spire, And the speedwell peeping blue. The motors come dashing along the lane, Making the white dust fly, And by noon hour Each poor little flower Had got some grit in its eye. The sun was hot, and the wind was dry, Each blossom blue, white or red— Languid with heat And dusty of feet, Wearily drooped its head. A little grey cloud crept up the sky, And dropped a pattering shower, Of silvery rain In the dusty lane, Washing the face of each flower. The blossoms cheered up and lifted their heads, Eagerly drinking the rain, And with nice clean faces They stood in their places; And smiled at the sky again. THE LITTLE RABBITS. (Sent' by “Mother’s Fairy.”) Two'little brown bunnies sat down to dine, All in the ferns and the heather; Their eyes were bright and their hearts were light, And it was summer weather. Dear little warm and fluffety things! I know they saw me peeping; But I wouldn’t hurt them or discontent them, .So off I tip-toed creeping. SING A SONG. (Sent by Rex Woodley.) Sing a song of dear old Dad, Looking for his pen; First he searched the dining room, Then he searched his “den.” Next, he called the family, who hunted far and near; Then we saw that father’s pen Was perched upon his ear J.

THE QUESTION BOX. (Sent by “Clematis.”) “Daddy, tell me—- “ What’s the sun?” “A flaming mass “ Of red-hot gas. “Now, laddie, go and run.” “But, Daddy—tell me “What’s the moon ?” “A cold grey planet “Mostly granite. “Son, your bedtime's soon!” “Just tell me, Daddy, “What’s the earth?” “Some land and ocean “Set in motion—.” “But, Daddy, what’s it worth?” “Well, son, I’m not precisely sure; “•To answer is no sinecure; “But I would say on second thought “It’s worth the things that can’t be bought—- “ Like laughter and a few bright tears, “And courage, steadfast through the years.” , MY HOUSE. (Sent by Renee Fetch.) A smile for each window, A dream for each door, My house is a house You’ve never seen before. A room to keep my treasures My dream, a sunbeam,’ My house. POOR ME! (Sent by “Kaiserblume.”) I was a bonny baby boy, With hair that was so curly, And everybody seeing me, Sg.id, “What a lovely girlie!” That made me wild, and off I cut Enough to fill a trunk-y, Now, anybody seeing me Says, “Why, there’s a little monkey.” SUMMER. (Sent by Ernestine Richardson.) Summer is a-coming in, Loud sing, cuckoo! Groweth seed, and bloweth mead, And springeth the woods new, Sing, cuckoo! All green and fair the summer lies, Just budded from the bud of spring, With tender blue of wistful skies. And winds which, softly sing. \. LULLABY TOWN. The dustman is coming from Lullaby Town, From winkety, blinkety Lullaby ■ Town, Where the stars are so bright You . can’t tell that it’s night, As you walk through the streets of Lullaby Town. The dustman is coming from Lullaby Town, And softer and lighter than fine thistledown, Is the dust that he brings, And the song that he sings, Is loved by the children of Lullaby Town. The dustman is coming from Lullaby Town, And little folks’ eyes, whether grey, blue or brown, Will all sleepily close As his dust in them blows, And straightway they’ll wander to Lullaby Town. That wonderful dustman from Lullaby Town, With magical touch every sorrow can drown; He can give pain relief And will’ soothe' every grief, For those who go sadly to Lullaby Town. The dustman is king of far Lullaby

Town, Though no sceptre he wields, nor yet

wears any crown. We acknowledge his sway, At the close of each day,, We all would go gladly to Lullaby Town. FUSSY MAREE. (Sent by Ronnie Winstanley.) Pussy maree! maree! maree! Has climbed up into the apple tree; Not to steal apples, no not she! Naughty pussy! She hopes to find A little nest with feathers lined, And I hope she won’t, Though it sounds unkind. Come down! Pussy maree! Mark ye! Come down quickly, and sit on my knee, For that’s the place for a cat to be. THE OLD SCHOOL ROAD. (Sent by D’Arcy Nicholson.) I walk along the old bush road, With all its winding ways, And my thoughts go drifting backwards To joys of childhood days. I think of little school-time friends, With childish hopes and fears. I wonder if they think of me Across the span of years? THE FAIRY DRESSMAKER. (Sent by Merle Druce.) A little fairy dressmaker Lives in a woodland dell;, ’ , A bramble thorn her needle is, Her thimble—a bluebell. She gathers up the petals shed By every flower that grows— The daisy,' and' the columbine, The pansy, and the rose. She stitches them with spider’s thread To fairy gowns and things; For buttons she puts tiny seeds, And grasses green for strings. And fast her magic needle flies As long as it is light, For every fairy lady needs • A new gown every night. RULES FOR' BEHAVIOUR. (Sent by Marion and Jack Curran.) Hearts, like doors, will open with ease, To very, very little keys, And don’t forget that two of these Are, “I. thank you” and “If you please.” “Come when you’re called,” “Do what you’re bid,” “Close the door after you,” Never be chid. Seldom can’t, seldom don’t, Never shan’t and never won’t.