OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 21 October 1933, Page 9 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

NOT A BIT JEALOUS.

tsent oy Margaret Adam.) My mummy's got a baby girl— She’s such a little thing; She cries air day and all night, too, Bur. I don’t—l just sing. ’Cos don’t you see the reason why • I’m bigger, far, than JoyBut mummy says I’ll always be Her darling little boy. THE FINAL SPRING CLEANING. (Sent by Wendy.) I must roam, said the spirit, Through the chambers of the soul; I must mend the cracks and tatters, Make the broken pieces whole. I must polish up the windows To get a clearer view, For lately I’ve been noting A dusty, jaundiced hue. I must sweep out all the corners Where jealousies may lurk And bum up old intolerance. I’ve such a lot of work 1 A lot of springtime "cleaning To put my house in order, And round about the entrance I must plant a fragrant border. I must tidy, said the spirit, The storehouse of the soul; Of the precious gems within it I must take most careful toll. I must see that there is laughter, And commonsense and such, And memories of beauty, And the gentle human touch. —Wilhelmina Stitch. THE DONKEY BOY’S SONG. (Sent by Douglas West.) Hallo, sir, won’t you ride my donkey ? He’s pretty, nice and fine as he can be, He has ere now borne many a Yankee, So fat and strong and gentle, don’t you see ? He’ll rest you from your journey long. And very small will be the fare, We’ll roam the pyramids among, You’ll sit as in a rocking chair. Won't you ride my little donkey? He is as gentle as a lamb. He is too small, perhaps, you’re thinking, But he can carry any man. He runs as easy as a hound, He trips as light as bird on wing, And you won’t feel he strikes the ground, I’ll drive him for you while I sing. I’m proud of my sleek donkey; He’s round and plump and quite well fed; ■ He’s lively, patient, never flighty, Often through yon streets he’s sped. He’ll carry you with ease all day, Never murmur nor get tired; It will seem to him like play;. Come ! We’re waiting to be hired. JUMBO’S JCKE. (Sent by Billjkins.) The weather was hot, the water was clear; Said Hippo to Jumbo, “Nobody’s near. Let’s both have a dip, this lake isn’t wide; I’ll race you across to the farther side." Now, Peggy and Bun, on the farther bank, Were talking over some mischievous prank, When Jumbo, the elephant, hove in sight, And called to his friends tn terrible fright. “Throw out a lifebuoy, poor Hippo is done I” But this was a bit of old Jumbo’s fun;. .. .. -. .. - - For the. Hippo, as most of you very well know,. - Swims both above water, and down below. .FAIRY UMBRELLAS. (Sent by Gwitha Thomas.) Out in the waving meadow grass The pretty daisies grow; I love to see their golden eyes, Their petals- white as snow. I wonder if the fairies use The dainty little flowers, To keep their frocks from getting wet, In sudden April showers. YOUNG RASCALS. (Sent by Florence Parker.) We cannot be. grave like the dog that is old, . Who loves to lie by the fire and doze. The play’s gone out of his legs, we suppose; .. He does what he lilies and the cook doesn’t scold, • We’ve chewed up a slipper, and damaged a hat, We’ve bitten a sponge into fifty bits, And gnawed the armchair where the grandmother sits, And worried a glove—little left of that! We’ve broken two dishes, and, oh! what fun ! We romped in the kitchen until the old cook Came rushing upstairs to cry, “Look! just look! Just look what these doggies have done ?” “Oh, bother the puppies!” we heard cook say; But we wagged our tails for the master smiled, Saying softly, “I dearly loved play as a child, But J’m quiet enough now my hair is grey. All playtime will come to an end, never fear it; For children, for doggies, for you and me, Be patient! What sort of world would it be With no merry young rascals to cheer it.” BATH TIME. (Sent by Marjorie Dring.) By the side of the brook where forget-me-nots shine, * On washing-day Rosemary fixes her line, And brings out the bath-tub, and borrows some pegs And soapsuds from kind Mrs. Wiggins she begs. Her family garments go into the tub, “You naught; Joanna! Your frock I must scrub; , Oh, Dorothy, see! the-- are stains on your skirt, And I think Baby Bunting has rolled in the dirt!” She kneels by the brooklet to rinse with case, Then hangs them above in the nice drying breeze; And who is so pleased and excited as Spot, While she bathes Baby hunting, Joanna and Dot ? She set out her dollies to bask in the sun, “Now your turn !” she cries, and poor Spot wants to run, But Rosemary grabs as he’s making a dash, And into the water he goes with a splash ! Such rubbing and scrubbing you never have seen; You’d think that the pippy just hates to be clean; And yet for five minutes how nice he will look— Till he digs for a rat in the bank of the brook.