OUR POETRY

Taranaki Daily News, 27 March 1937, Page 18 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY

DO NOT JUDGE TOO HARD. (Sent by Phyllis Dodunski.) Pray don't find fault with the man who limps Or stumbles along the road, Unless you have worn the shoes he wears, Or struggled beneath his load. There may be tacks in the shoes that hurt, Though hidden away from view, Or the burdens he bears placed on your back, Might cause you to stumble too.

WAVES. (Sent by Pauline Dodunski.) There are big waves and little waves, Green waves and blue, Waves you can jump over Waves you can dive through, Waves that rise up Like a great water wall, Waves that swell softly And don't break at all, Waves that can whisper, Waves that can roar, And tiny waves that run at you Running on the shore. AUTUMN LEAVES. (Sent by Jill Hart.) Once I saw some autumn leaves Away up on a tree, And while I wa s not looking Down they came to me. A red one on this shoulder, A yellow one on that, A crimson one upon my head The dearest little hat; A brown one stuck upon my nose, Another on my chin. One, two, three, four, five, What a queer shower to be in! THE AUTUMN FAIRIES. One morning the Fairies, bome on by the breeze, Came hurrying down to visit the trees, Sporting and laughing, and singing with glee, Like the ripple of waves on a bright summer sea. Tinkling and tumbling they hurry along, Their fairy lips chanting a gay little song: "Oh! we are the Fairies, of autumn's glad day, And come with our wands to drive summer away." Then the trees, waving joyously, rustled with pride, While the green leaves were trembling, and trying to hide. But the Fairies, swept, on with the chill autumn breeze, 1 Soon touched with their wands all the beautiful trees, And stralghtway a magic change, gay to behold, For the bright green was turned to a glory of gold. .

SHOPS. This morning we will play at shops Under the garden wall, And you shall buy the lollipops, And I will keep the stall. For counter we've a smooth old plank, Bright orange-rind for scales, And earth with water from the tank For jam, in our tin pails. Our grapes are currants white and black, Our sugar, silver sand, While yellow gooseberries at the back In rows like melons stand, A rushen basket you will bring, And pebbles brown and grey. ■ Because, of coursc, for everything You buy, you ought to pay. THE DUCKLINGS. (Sent by Betty Ashton.) Yellow fluff and yellow beaks, Wobbly legs and little squeaks, Shining eyes and wings so small} I'm not quite sure they're there at all Little Ducklings. Unsteadily they try to run, And peck each others' tails for fun. They waddle there and waddle here, They find a worm and think it's queer Funny Ducklings! Soon they'll grow up into ducks And then the mother-hen with clucks Will tell them they must keep away From water — but they won't obey. Naughty Ducklings.