OUR POETRY.

Taranaki Daily News, 20 August 1938, Page 14 (Supplement)

OUR POETRY.

THE DAISY. (Origlnal— By Christine McEwin.) Wake up little daisy, the sun is on high, The blithe little birds sing in the sky; The dcar happy chUdren stand watchmg them fly. Wake up little flower for springtime is nigh. Arise little daisy, peep up from the snow, Awake little flower, thy beauty to show; The bees are a-buzzing and searching the ground For sweet-soented flowers that shine all around. CORONATION DAY. (Sent by Lorna Niccolls.) The fairy queen was crowned to-day, In a lovely fairy way. Little elves in coats of blue, Made a crown of sparkling dew. Every fairy in the land Had stitched hard, for she had planned Tliat the queen should have a gown Fit to wear with any crown. Then they sat her on a throne Of her very, yery own. It was made of moss and flowers From the fairies' garden bowers. I was hidden up a t.ree — That is why I know, You see! THE CELANDJNE. (Sent by Patricia Knuckey.) Ihe pretty little Cclandine Is very 'brave and bold She peers up gaily from the grass, And dares the March wind cold. See how her starry, golden flowers Are shining far and near. They seem to Say to everyone "Be happy— Spring is here!" A BLACKBIRD. (Sent by Bruce Atkinson.) In the far corner close by the swjbtigs Every morning a blackbifd sings; His bill is so yellow, His coat is so black, He makes a fellow whistle back. THE RAINBOW. (Sent by D'Arcy Williams.) Above the far off purple hills There hung a cloud of silver rain, And soon the gleaming rain drops danced Down from the sky towards the plam; And as they danced their way to earth They met the children of the sun. The sunbeams who in merry sport Soon joined the rain drops in their fim, And as the silver and the gold .Danced to and fro in merry game Th6y looked like many coloured gems; And that is how the rainbow came. FAIRY TEARS. (Sent by Gwendoiyn Urbahn.) The fairies cry— oh yes, they do — But not a bit like me and you. For we are thinking of ourselves— That's not the way with little elves. They cry when gentle stags are killed, When busy little hoofs are stilled, When happy singing birds are caught By cruel men who call it sport. Tltey cry to see the hunted things, The mother pheasant's broken wings, The frightened rabbit on the course, The bent head of the pobr old horse. The fairies cry — oh yes, they do — But not a bit like me and you; And wouldn't it be grand, my dears, If we could stop those fairy tears! SPECKLY HEN. (Sent by Eileen Marsh.) I like to gather new-laid eggs That Grandrtias chookies lay, And I'm allowed to do ' that when I go down . there to stay. I take the basket from the shelf And to the yard I go; There in neat boxes by the wall Three nests are in a row. Sometimes the hens lay seven eggs And sometimes nine or ten; And sometimes, too, I find an egg Laid outside in the pen. And then I crawl beneath the hedge To look in Speckly's nest. She is a lovely dear old hen— I" think I like her best. Old Speckly's egg is always brown. And Grindma . says to me— ■ "If you would like to have it, dear, ITl boil it for your tea." So that is why I like to find An egg in Speckly's nest; And that's the reason too, I think, . Why I like her the best!