OUR OWN VERSE-MAKERS

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXIV, Issue 18849, 11 April 1931, Page 20

OUR OWN VERSE-MAKERS

THISTLEDOWN. Thistledown, thistledown, From the thistle flower's crown. Everywhere it blows about, When the wind is up and out. Drifting over hill and plain, Never to return again. Soft little fairy playthings Flying fast on magic wings; Causing children much delight As they try with all their might To catch these dainty “Fairy symbols. Commonly known to us as “Thimbles.’ Thistledown's just elfin kisses, Soft wee things nobody misses As they come dancingly flying by Near to the earth or up in the sky Children run, to catch in the end A “thimble,’’ from a little friend. Thistledown, thistledown, Now's the time for thistledown; Everywhere it drifts about. Hear the happy Circlians shout, “I will catch this one if I can. ’Cos I'm sure it comes from Peter Pan!' (5 Marks and a Merit Card awardee to “Laurie,” Hazel Dale, Albury aged 15). NOD.

There’s a quaint wee man whos name is Nod. His feet with magic shoes are shod. His pockets are filled with golden sand To scatter each night far o’er the land. His beard is long and snowy white. His twinkling eyes are very bright. His hair is long, his cheeks are red. A pointed hat adorns his head. He carries on his wee hump-back 1 A very large and heavy sack: ’Tis full of dreams, both good and bad j ' To make the children gay or sad. j 1 To children good he gives a dream j 1 Of toys and cakes and chocolate cream. ; < But naughty ones receive instead A nightmare when they go to bed. (5 Marks and a Merit Card awarded to “It,” Dorothy Lyne, Timaru, j aged 8). A WINTER’S NIGHT. The wind was whistling round the shed And crying in the trees. And I was tucked up safe in bed, So that I would not freeze. The curtains floated o’er the bed. And rested on the still, —Another gust across my head, —And everything was still. Then the rain came pattering down And sank into the ground. The sky was ugly black and brown. And the moon could not be found. My fingers I pushed in my ears, As claps of thunder came; My heart was full of little fears Because of storm and rain. (1 Mark and a Merit Card awarded to to “Poppy," Mildred Jarman, Tasmania, aged 9). MY GARDEN. In my garden gaily grow Pansies and roses red; Poppies, daisies, and lilies Are in my garden bed. Daffodils and violets Both come out in Spring, And then there are the bluebells That make my garden ring. There’s not a weed in my garden, I keep it very neat, So that all my pretty flow r ers Will look so nice and sweet. (1 Mark and a Merit Card awarded to Freda Wootton, Tasmania, aged 10). THE FAIRIES. There are fairies in the glen, Also crowds of elfin men. At night they dance by the light of the moon. Out in the bush, where there’s plenty of room. The fays are dressed in blue and gold But—here comes the lovely Queen. I’n told. In a glistening frock of gauze, She walks straight past and does noi pause. Down on a toadstool big she sits, And eats moonbeam in tiny bits. The band starts up a lively tune, And the fays all dance in the ligh of the moon. The palace is of fern-trees tall, Near w-hich they hold their nightl; Ball. The carpet is of fresh, green mosi, And on it stands the good Queen Flos* (1 Mark and a Merit Card awarde to “Buttercup Lass," Annie Heac Waimate, aged 11). THE POET. There the poet sits and looks At the little babbling brook; He makes verses all day long, About the brook and its song, Then he walks beside the river. Where the breezes make you shiver. He sees the field, the big green field, He sees the sheep all run and leap, He walks along the quiet lane, He racks his brains, but not in vai: For soon a verse he does compose Of nging thrush beneath the ros (1 Mark and a Merit Card awarde to “Jenny Lee,” Sylvia Timblic Cisndeboye, aged 12).