OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 20 April 1935, Page 9 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

THE WIND AND THE LEAVES. (Sent by Joyce McEwen.) “Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day, “Come over the meadows with me and play. Put on your dresses of red and gold, For summer is gone and the days grow cold.” Soon as the leaves heard the wind’s loud call, Down they came fluttering, one and all: O’er the brown fields then they danced and flew, Singing the soft little song they knew. Dancing and whirling the little leaves went, Winter had called them and they were content, , Soon, fast asleep in their earthly beds, The snow laid a coverlet over their heads. THE ELVES. (Sent by Baby Margaret.) If you make a daisy chain, And hang it on a tree, Elves will have it for a swing; ' You just try and see. If you shake the petals down From a crimson rose, Elves will come and gather them To make their Sunday clothes. If you drop an apple blossom When the dew is on it, Elves will set to work and make A baby fairy’s bonnet, MRS. SQUIRREL’S STORE. (Sent by Betty Ashton.) Little Mrs. Squirrel visited her store Of filberts and cob huts and hazel nuts galore, Acorns and apples and fat ears of wheat, And lots of other dainties that squirrels love to eat. She had to feed her babies, those furry little mites, ' Who looked to her to satisfy their healthy appetites. For now the winter time had come and snow was on the ground, And fallen nuts and acorns were not easy to be - found. Then when they all had eaten nuts till they could eat no more, She took her spade and buried the remainder of her store, And . very pleased she was to see she left enough to last, If she was rather careful till winter time was past.. SIX YEARS OLD. (Sent by Muriel’ Manning.) I’m six years old this very day, And I can read and spell, And do some easy little sums, Although not very well. My mother taught me all I know, So dear and kind is she; In summer-time we have our school Beneath a shady tree. She talks to me about the trees, The pretty birds that sing, The butterflies and humming bees; ■ I love just everything. She tells the name of every flower in my garden grows; . I think it’s really wonderful All that my mother knows. TOMMY THE SCOUT. (Sent by Desmond Hurley.) Tommy has a leather belt, And a scarf of brightest red; He wears a wide-brimmed khaki hat-' Set smartly on his head. On Saturdays he marches out, As gaily as can be, With staff and haversack’ complete, For he’s a Scout, you see. Tommy’s such a jolly boy, Full of life and fun, Good at lessons, good at play, Liked by everyone. Rules for Scouts he knows by heart: “Be prepared,” he’ll say; “Find a good turn you can do > For someone every day.” THE CRIPPLE MAN. (Sent by Lucy Mouat.) There’s such a poor old cripple man Who lives just down our. street; He’s got a crooked shoulder And funny turned-in feet. And though I never talk to him ’Cos I feel a little shy, I often kind of smile at him When I see him going by. Anti when he’s gone inside his gate And isn’t there to see I often put a bag of sweets Beneath his mulberry tree. I ’spect when he comes down the path He finds and eats them too, And thinks the fairies put tlfifcn, just For something kind to do. CHERRIES. (Sent by Audrey Cassidy.) “Cherries, ripe cherries!” the old woman cried, In her snowy white apron and basket beside; The little boys came, eyes shining, cheeks red, . ® To. buy bags of. cherries to eat with their bread. ’ BESIDE THE SEA. (Sent by Violet Crosbie). > When I was down beside the sea A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My hole was- empty like a cup, In every hole the sea came up Till it could come no more. ' . THE THREE GIANTS. (Sent by Marjorie Shaw). High in the-mountains, dreaming deep, Three old giants lie asleep Without a murmur, without a sigh, Their wrinkled faces turned, on high. Never a damsel comes their way, Never a prince to fight and slay. Their keeps have crumbled, and ruins lie Where once fair castles graced the sky. Their reign is over, their day is done, Their final battle is fought and won, And only the stars peep down at night And sigh for the days of their bygone might. THE MQTH. t (Sent by Mary Alty). I caught a moth, A silver moth, That fluttered in my hair; And when I peeped into my hand I found but star dust there. THREE FAT FROGS. (Sent by Kathleen Copeman). Under a toadstool three fat frogs Sat down to have a chat; Along came a pup, who said, out loud: “My whiskers! Aren’t they fat!” The three fat frogs felt very cross And said: “In our young days They taught how to be polite To everyone—always.” The puppy blushed quite red with shame And ran away to play, And now, when, e’er he meets a frog, He looks the other way.