LITTLE RHYMES FOR LITTLE PEOPLE

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLII, Issue 20587, 28 November 1936, Page 13 (Supplement)

LITTLE RHYMES FOR LITTLE PEOPLE

THE SAILOR MAN “When I grow up," said little Dan, “I mean to be B sailor-man, And sail away to foreign lands; To the wild west and coral strands! Rolling over the ocean deep, With the • sound of the waves to lull me to sleep. The only life that is free,” said Dan, “Is that of the Jolly sailor-man!” So, one fine day, he went afloat, Just in a little rowing boat, Aeror” *b-, harbour and still, ' ’'thrill'!"' " * “ Just how It happened, no one knew, But suddenly a rough wind blew! The boat began to rock and sway —Gone was that peaceful summer’s day. The poor boy looked so pale and sick. Cried he, “Oh Dad, let’s get home quick!” —And now, “I’m not so sure,” says Dan, “That I will be a sailor-man.” —Joan Mary Thomson, Timaru.

DIFFERENCES Daddy goes a-riding in a motor painted grey, He makes a lot of snorty noises before he gets away. The fairies go a-riding when they wish to take their ease, The fairies go a-riding on the backs of bumble bees. Daddy goes a-saillng in a little wooden boat, He takes a lot of tackle and his very oldest coat; The fairies go a-salling and I wonder they get home, The fairies go a-sailing on a little scrap of foam. Daddy goes a-climbing with a knapsack and a stick, The rocks are very hard and steep, Ins boots are very thick; The fairies go a-cllmbing, I’ve seen them there in crowds; The fairies go a-climbing in the mountains in the clouds. (Sent by Mary Robertson, Hllderthorpe).

A GOOD MOTTO Do all the things you can, To all the people you can, At all the times you can, As long as ever you can. (Sent by Inez McDougall, Timaru). TREES The silver birch Is a dainty lady, She wears a satin gown; The elm tree makes the old churchyards shady, He will not live in town. The English oak is a sturdy fellow, He gets his green coat late; The willow is smart in a suit of yellow, While brown the beech trees wait. The chestnut’s proud and the lilac’s pretty, The poplar’s gentle and tall, But the plane tree’s kind to the poor dull city— I love him best of all. —E. Nesbit. (Sent by Shirley Howe, Timaru) LOTS There’s lots more light than shadow, Lots more sun than rain, Lots more good than evil. Lots more joy than pain. There’s valleys and there’s hill-tops, Grim set-backs and success. Though sorrow is a-plenty, There’s still some happiness. (Sent by Dorothy, Temuka). HILLS If I can paint them on my mind— November tides of hills, Blue waves turned into silence, Where not a foam tip spills; And my sun-freckled meadow And the shade-chilled stone wall And tipping ferns, and crickets Polished to shine, and all The leaves like looking-glasses, And air like a clear brook (Air wishing for apples, And knowing where to look), And goldenrod in feather And a lemon butterfly— If I can mint this moment, Let me go low, go high, I have a lucky pocket piece To carry till I die.