OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 27 May 1933, Page 9 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

AMBITION. (Sent by Ruth Laird.) “I want to get brown,” said the elf to the sun, “I want to have freckles like John. “I’d a beauty last night on the tip of my nose, “But when I woke up it was gone. “My dear.” said the sun, “it’s a difficult task. “There’s so little room, don t you see. “One freckle would cover your face and you’d have “A complexion like very strong tea!” THREE MUSICAL LIMERICKS. (Sent by “Golden Shoes.") There was a young man with a flute,, Who thought it was really a “beaut”; It delighted him so, When -he got it to blow, But his hearers all wished it was mute. There was a young chappie called Twinkle, Who on a piano did tinkle; . They gave’ him a prize, Of a pair of black eyes, . Which made him both winkle and blinkie. There was a young fellow called Karp, Who whistled a tune in F sharp; But a blow from a bat,„ Soon made hum gc “flat.” And now is he playing a harp. A LEAF ON THE WATER. (Sent by Hazel James.) On the autumn breeze She drifted wide, From the tall elm trees To the nut-brown tide; I watched her dip On its dappled breast: A golden ship On a magic quest. Some elf of the elm Is surely there, Holding the helm, Alert, aware — With puckered frown, Some woodland fay, Conning her down On her seaward way. When summer gleamed On flower and glass, Who would have dreamed That sail would pass ? In dark mid-winter, When snowflakes fly Who will remember x That ship went by ? IN INK. (Sent by Betty Morgan.) I wish that I might write in ink, The way that grown up people do; But mother says I mustn’t think Of that for quite a year or two. She says my copy-book would be, A sorry sight with blots and smears, But, oh! it does seem hard to me, To write in pencil two more years! TOODLE—O ODLE—O ODLE. (Sent by Betty Ure.) Toodlc-oodle-oodle Was a little fat duck. Her old hen mother Said “Cluck ! cluck! cluck ! If you take a waddle You must come straight back,” So Toodle-oodle-oodle Answered, "Quack! quack! quack!’ THE GARDENERS. (Sent by Veda Garcia.) Oh, the lovely roses, Lilies, pansies, pinks, We must do some planting out, That’s what Doris thinks I. : Flower-pots, spades and dibbles, Every gardener owns, “So, they may for me,” snaps Floss, “I’m for buried bones!” A GOOD-NIGHT SONG. (Sent by Isabel Hunt.) Up the sleepy staircase, Into Slumber Town, Baby mine is ready, In her nightie-gown. Face so clean and rosy, Brushed each shining curl, ! Sandman is a-waiting For my baby girl. Up the sleepy staircase, Through the land of sleep, Where the stars are shining, And the fairies peep. Sandman’s dust is. blowing, Eyes are closing tight, Happy dreams be with you, Baby girl, good-night! THREE OLD LADIES. (Sent by Elsie Rookes.) There was an old lady, all dressed in silk, Who lived upon lemons and buttermilk; And, thinking the world a sour old place, She' carried its acid all over face. Another old lady, all dressed in patches, Who lived upon nothing but plain matches, And so the world made her strangle and cough, As sure as you rubbed her you’d let her off! Another old lady, all sunny and neat, Who lived upon sugar and everything sweet, Exclaimed when she heard of their troubles, “I never! For the world is so nice I could live on forever!” CLEVER GOLLY. He’s a gentleman indeed, Mr. Edward Golly; Always ready for a lark, Always gay and jolly! Off he went ‘one rainy day, Met old Betty Bunny, She was much amused at him, Thought his face was funny! Betty put her brolly ‘up, Such a gale was blowing, Took her right, up in the sky, Look where she is going! Betty cried in sad alarm, Golly seized his cane, Caught her just in time, you see, Pulled her down again. Little Betty felt ashamed, For Golly saved her life And to end this little tale, She now is—Golly’s wife I ONE BOOK IN 900 LANGUAGES. A birthday party was held at the Guildhall, in London, the other day. The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs were there, and a huge party of children, and there was a birthday cake weighing 129 pounds. It was the birthday of the British and Foreign Bible Society, which was founded 129 years ago. Ever since then its workers have been translating the Bible into strange dialects and carrying it to the far places of the earth. The Lord Mayor told the guests that there was no library in the world like the one at Bible House, where there are copies of the Scriptures in 900 different forms of speech.