OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 16 April 1932, Page 20 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

A FAIRY TEA PARTY. (Sent by Olive Saywell.) Dolly and I had quarrelled Down by the chestnut tree, Doll wouldn’t do What I wanted her to. So I smacked her quite hard, you see. She called me "an unkind mother,” And I gave her another smack. I was sorry for it, But I never permit My dolls to answer me back. Then, of course, she started crying, And I think I should have cried, But suddenly out Of the ferns about I saw something creep and glide. They were seven soft darling rabbits So tame and smooth and sweet, Not a bit afraid; They came and stayed Quite close against my feet. But Dolly was, oh, so frightened, So I kissed her and held her tight, And said, "Never mind, The rabbits are kind.” So that made our quarrel all right. The big rabbit bowed politely, And said, “Will you come to tea! Our cloth is laid In the nice cool shade On the other side of the tree.” "Yes, thank you, I’ll come with pleasure,” I said, and took Dolly’s hand. I followed them round, And suddenly found We had stepped into fairyland. For dancing in the sunbeams Were elves in rainbow suits, Who passed the tea And cake to me, And fairy sweets and. fruits. The cloth was a silver cobweb, Well laid in a fairy ring, And the rabbits and I Did our best to try , To eat up Then mother called—and the fairies Dissolved in a sunny gleam, The rabbits fled And mother said I’d only 'been a dream. THE BUSY BEE. (Sent by Irene Saywell.) I trot about the whole day long. As busy as a bee. I wonder how things would get done If it were not for me! There’s Pussy’s milk to sea about, And all the birdies’ crumbs, And Grandpa must be kept amused By someone when he comes. Nurse would be dull if I weren’t there To sing to her, and talk, And ask about the things we see When we go out to walk. When Mother sews, I pull out pins, And pack them in a 'box, And choose the prettiest darning wool For mending Daddy’s socks. And Daddy’s slippers must be warmed When he comes home to tea. And when he smokes, someone must sit All comfy on his knee. And when I cut out paper dolls, And make a mess, I say, "Don’t scold me, Nurse; I’ll fetch my brush And sweep the bits away!” I’m not so very big, you know, I’m only three, and yet I’m Daddy’s Sunbeam, Mother’s Joy, And everybody’s Pet! I SAW A LITTLE BIRD. (iSent by Mary Gray.) I saw a little bird, and if went hop, hop, And I cried, “Little bird, will you stop, stop?” And I was going to the window to say, “How do you do,” When she shook her little wings and away she flew. A BRAVE LITTLE TREE. (Sent by Mamie Watson.) A brave and sturdy little tree Was growing in a wood, It stood as straight as straight could be, As every brave tree should. It bore no juicy apples, No cherries red and round, And never dropped ripe autumn leaves, . - Beneath it, on the ground. THE RED DWARF. (Sent by Mamie Watson.) Three things we need, the red dwarf said, And at these and those: Smoke from the witch’s chimney pot, A leaf from a golden rose, And a feather out of a blue-bird’s wing— And each, to be sure, ife a wonderful thing, And a secret that nobody knows. LAUGH AND BE MERRY. * (Sent by Eileen Bryant.) Laugh and be merry! Remember, better the world with a song, Better the world with a blow in the teeth of the wrong. Laugh, for the time is brief—a thread the length of a span; Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man. —John Masefield. BINGO. (Sent by Nola Petersen.) When I had my tonsils out (I was only nine). Grannie gave me Bingo, So Bingo's all mine. ■Bingo's a terrier, Very kind and wise, White all over, With dark brown eyes. When I’m rather bigger I know what I shall do; I shall go exploring, And Bingo will go too. . We shall reach the South Pole, (I shall keep a log), And Bingo’s photo will be taken Because he is my dog. He will be presented With a silver bowl; “This belongs to Bingo, Who went to the Pole.” SPRINGTIME. (Sent by Olive Scandlyn.) Spring is coming! Spring is coming! Birdies, build your nest; Weave together straw and feather, Doing each your best. Spring is coming! Spring is coming! Flowers are coming too, Pansies, lilies, daffodils, All are coming through.

NONSENSE RHYMES. (Sent by Merle Druce.) The sun was up, The day had come; Miss Buttercup, (The pretty one) Put on her cap Of yellow silk, And filled her lap With buttermilk. A lady bug Who ha_d no. home, Was very snug In honey cffm'b. The Buzzy Bee, Who owned the place, Stood at the door And made a face. Mother Moon Has on to-night Her softly ruffled cap, And her little Children stars Fill her broad blue lap. When Silly Sally tried to skate, The art she could not master; She put her skates on wrong side front, And had a sad disaster. "I don’t care for bathing,” Said Tom with a pouti “Just suppose I went in “And forgot to come out.” THE FOUR S’s. ('Sent by Irene Saywell.) I’m six years and go io school; I think it rather fun, But there are lots of lessons there — I’d like it best with none. They’ve got the dearest kitty though, As black as black can be; And when I go to sing my song, She comes and sings with me. She likes the sewing classes, too. We’d lovely fun one day, With teacher’s basket 6n the floor, While teacher was away. . How kitty pulled the reels about— I ’spect she thought them mice— But teacher did not lik : my work And made me do it twice. I’m rather good at spelling class. You should see Tommy Grey!. Such a disgracious- letter ’twas He wrote to me one day. He wanted to be rude, but I Just smiled and said, “You’d better Learn how to spell, my boy; before You try to write a letter.” But sums are dreadful, when I say,That two and two make three; My teacher says that they make four, They won’t do that for me! Those figures don’t mind me one bit. I can’t make them go right— I’m sure I’d better leave off sums, ’Till I am grown up—quite. THE BABY OVER THE WAY. (Sent by Vere McMillan.) The baby over the way, I know, Is a better baby than me, For the baby over the way is all That a baby ought to be. The baby over the way is neat, When I’m not fit to be seen; His frock is smooth and his bib is sweet, And his ears are always clean. He’s a dear little, sweet little, angel bright, A love and a dove they say; But when I grow up, I am going to fight With the baby over the way! NEVER CONTENTED. (Sent by Phyllis Spranger.) The skies are grey to-day, But the rain is warm and sleek; We all should be happy and gay, For it was sunny last week. But go it is the people growl And grumble of the heat, But they grumble just the same When comes the rain so sweet. TWO POCKETS. (Sent by Mary Gray.) Fve got two pockets and I cried, “Little Joe, What shall I put in them? I don’t know. , It shall not be apples and it shall not 'be plums. But a penny I’ll keep till the blind beggar comes.” THE TRAMP. (Sent by Ray Telfer.) The weary tramp was old and worn, She stood with downcast head. “Kind sir, I’ve seen some better days,” Respectfully he said. “That may be so,” the man replied, "But still you must allow, ■ -• The time is precious, and I can’t

Discuss the weather now.” Homeless and hungry and sad he strolls, With buttonless shirt and socks in holes. Piled in the road his furniture' lies. “Want some supper,” his little child cries. Nowhere to go and nothing to eat, And cold is the wind and hard the street. “A pauper, bankrupt, or thief,” you . ■ ' * Not so, it’s his wife’s spring-cleaning to-day. BABY AT THE JAM. (Sent by Rex Woodley.) Oh, for shame, Baby cat Mother’s pet 1 Her,cupboard at. With a spoon Eating jam, ■ ’ Quite ashamed Of you I am. If she comes And catches you, You’ll be punished— Rightly, too. She will send you 'Straight to bed With, for supper, Plain, dry bread. THE HOURS. (Sent by Rex Woodley.) The hours are full of lovely things To please a little lad; But, oh! the nicest thing of all Is sitting on the garden wqll, Watching out for Dad. TOO SLOW FOR HIM. (Sent by Walter Clement.) “Let’s take a walk,” proposed the pea. The bean sped swiftly by, Remarking, “No; I never walk; A runner bean am I.” MOLLY AND I. (Sent by Vere McMillan.) My sister Molly and I fell out — I’ll tell what it was all about. She loved coffee, I loved tea, And that is the reason we couldn’t agree,

THE LAND OF JOYS. (Sent by Clemency Western.) Miranda had got her lessons to do, Her copy, her spelling, her sums on a slate; And they were dreadfully difficult, too; They always are when you’re only 8. She yawned, and sighed, and wriggled about; She twisted and fidgeted to and fro. “Oh, dear, if I could only go out! These tiresome lessons are fearfully slow. I wish that people would understand The way to please little girls and boys. Why can’t one live in some other land, Where there are no lessons, but only toys ?” A beautiful breath of cool fresh air Blew just then on Miranda’s face. Behold, the nursery wasn’t there: She was out of doors in a grassy place. The table was under her elbows, yet The ink and books remained the same, But everything was quite upset And top-sy turvy. An elephant came, A grey cloth elephant, also a Teddy, And, climbing up on Miranda’s table, They stood, the elephant very steady, Arid the bear as steady as he was able, And said to her in a sort of duet With a growly roar, and a trumpetty noise: “Though this is the first time we have met, We welcome you to the Land of Toys.” MY FOOTPATH. (Sent by Kevin de Castro.) May your path be strewn with flowers Like pebbles at the sea, In all your happy hours, Pray and remember me. And know there beats a heart for yqu, Whose every beat is warm and true. THE LITTLE ELF MAN. (Sent by Irene Scandlyn.) I ipet a little elf. man once Down where the lilies grow; I asked him why he was so small, And why he didn’t grow ? He slightly frowned and with his ; eye, He looked me through and through; “I’m just as big for me,” he said, “As you are 'big for you.” REST. (Sent by. Rose Ayton.) How peaceful just to rest, Long, dreamy hours, Where there is swaying grass, Just a few flowers; Just a few staunch bush-trees A rendezvous For dear old memories, mostly of you. BURYING UNCLE. (Sent by Frank Woodward.)' If at Brighton you should stay On your summer holiday, There’s a game that’s nice and new, I can recommend to you— Called by those who take a hand, “Burying Uncle in the sarid.” First you catch your uncle fat, Then you seize his gloves and hat, Lay him on his back, and fling Sand at him like anything! Heap and pack it round him tight, Till he disappears from sight! That’s the game we carried on. Last July with Uncle John. How we used to laugh when he Fought and struggled to get free! Babs . and I, and Frank and Percy, Simply made him howl for mercy! But, of course, ’twas all our fun; And when "burying” was done He would take us to the shops, And 'buy us cakes and lollipops. Dear Uncle John! I hope you’ll find Your soldier uncle half as kind.

THIS WEEK’S BEST LETTER.

AN EASTER TRAMP.

Dear Wendy,—During the Eastc holidays we climbed to the top of the Mohakatino hill, which is about 1200 feet in-height. We chose a fir day, Easter, Saturday. My brother took with him his camera. My youngest brother, who is nearly always the first to the top of a hill or anywhere we go, was, of course, the first to the top of this hill. To be the highest of all he climbed on to a post, so we could not say he was the lowest. As we were going up we came across a ledge of rock which we had to sit astride to cross. The boys had named it "Rocky Ledge” on their previous visit last year. In one place this ledge was about six inches wide, and Mother said she would not let children go up this hillby the way of “Rocky Ledge” alone. Ido not think I would any way. After reaching the top we gazed about us. We could see the coast-line going towards the mountain and the coast stretching north. Inland we could see the Taumata Maire hills and Mount Tongariro. Just as we were sitting, down to eat our apples ,we noticed a swarm of fly-, iqg ants, so Mum suggested moving on, but before going we took a few snaps of the coast-line. We then moved on to where there were no ants and ate our apples in peace. After that we started on our homeward journey. We had to go down a steep slope, and in one place; where the grass was slippery, we had a slide. We came home the way of the surveyor’s track. It looks easy to get down from the road, but when it comes to the getting down it is not so easy; also it is longer than it look?. With love to all, "Red Berry.” (Molly Black, Mokau.)