OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 13 July 1935, Page 6 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

MY LITTLE DOG. (Sent by Jessie Putt.) I helped a little lame dog Over such a stile; He followed me with gratitude Many a weary mile. I shoo-ed at him and chased him But he stuck there, close behind; I’m sure his bark was saying, “I know that you’ll, be kind!” He came into my housie ; And he wouldn’t go away, So I’ll keep my little lame dog, To myself, if I may. SHINING THINGS. (Sent by Eunice Poulsen.) I love all shining things-the lovely moon, The silver stars at night, gold sun at noon; A glowing rainbow in a stormy sky, Or bright clouds hurrying when wind goes by. I love the glow-worm’s elf-light in the lane, And leaves a-shine with glistening drops of rain; The glinting wings of bees and butterflies, My purring pussy’s green and shining eyes. I love the shining buttonFon my coat; I love the bright beads round my mother’s throat. I love the coppery flames of red and gold ' That cheer and comfort me when I am cold. The beauty of all shining things is yours and mine; It was a lovely thought of God’s to make things shine. A FUNNY LITTLE PERSON. (Sent by Molly Morris.) There is a funny little person, Who is always at my side, And yet when I go to find her She will run away and hide. She is closer than my Mummie, Or my doll or teddy-bear, Yet however hard I seek her She is never, never there. It is she who broke the window In the nursery yesterday; It was she hid Nursie’s scissors Just, before I went to play; It was she who dressed up Pussie In the newest dress I had; She is always doing something, And it’s mostly something bad. I have never even seen her, But I’m sure I know the name Of this funny little person Who will never take the blame, For one day I heard poor Nursie Give a great big sigh, and then Whisper, “Ah! I see Miss Mischief Has been round this way again.” SO if you see a person Just about the size of me, Doing something very awful, Just “pretend” you didn’t see, ’Cause if you should tell my Nursie She would sigh and shake her head, < And although she’d blame Miss Mischief,” It is me she’d send to bed. TEN GREY POPLARS. (Sent by Joan Whitehead.) Ten grey poplars Watching all forlorn, Leafless, flowerless, Weeping in the dawn. Spring time, summer time, Somewhere have I seen Ten gay poplar trees Dressed in green. IT MAKES SUCH A DIFFERENCE. (Sent by Margaret Watt.) It’s lovely to be me When I’m feeling nice; When there’s jam for tea, Or strawb’ry ice; When the sun is hot, Or the sndw is deep; When I’m in my cot, And nearly asleep— Why then, you know, It’s lovely to be me. But when the east wind’s blowing And rain is swishing down, And Nan stops me from going For my daily walk down town; Or when I’m feeling lonely And there’s nothing nice to eat, And I’m told I am the .only Naughty girl in all the street; Why then, you know, If you don’t mind , I think perhaps I’d rather be Some other little girl. SLEEPY SONG. (Sent by Adrinne McKain.) As soon as the fire burns red and low, And the house upstairs is still, She sings me a queer and soft little song Of sheep that go over a hill. The good little sheep run quick and soft, Their colours are grey and white; They follow their leader, nose and , tail, For they must be by night. And one slips over, and one comes next, And one runs after behind — The grey one’s nose at the white one’s tail— The top of the hill to find. JACK FROST. (Sent by Olive Cloke.) “Look out. Look out! Jack Frost is about. z He’s after our fingers and,, toes, And all through the night The gay little sprite Is working when nobody knows. He’ll climb each tree, So nimble is he, His silvery powder he’ll shake. To windows he’ll creep And while we’re asleep Such wonderful pictures he’ll make. Across the grass He’ll merrily pass And change all its greenness to white, Then home he will go And laugh, Ho! Ho! Ho! What fun I have had in the night!” THE ENGINE DRIVER. (Sent by Monty Andrews.) I had a little engine when I was very small, And little shining rails on which it swiftly ran; But I’ll drive a great big engine when I’m nearly six feet tall And have grown a proper bristly and am a man. Perhaps I’ll drive the people from town to the seaside, And the happy boys and girls with nets and spades and pails; I’ll drive my engine quickly and I’ll be so full of pride As I hurry them along the smooth and shining rails. And when the town we’re entering I’ll go slowly and with pride, And I’ll draw up in the great big station by and by, And I’ll think of all the people and the boys and girls inside, And I’ll wonder if they’re all as glad and proud as I.