MIDDLE AGED

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLVIII, Issue 21819, 23 November 1940, Page 11

MIDDLE AGED

Baby sits in his high chair He has to have his breakfast there, He dribbles porridge down his chin And spills far more than he puts in. He throws his crusts upon the floor And loudly bawls and cries for more. Daddy comes to breakfast late He leaves his bits upon the plate He isn’t sent to brush his hair Or told to “sit straight” on his chair. And that his hands are a disgrace Or that he has a sticky face. Now, if I leave a tiny bit I never hear the end of. it, If, after meals there is found A crust beside me on the ground, They say “What horrid naughty tricks For a great boy of nearly six.” Daddy’s old as old can be, Baby’s still just only wee; I have to do as I am told Because I’m neither young or old. It makes a fellow feel enraged— I’m sick of being middle aged. (Sent by Peter Marshall, age 9.) THE GOBLIN’S TEA-PARTY One moonlight night in a goblin glade, On a mushroom could be seen Some cakes that Goblin Nob had made, And gooseberries ripe and green. There were other Goblins present, But they weren’t all bright and pleasant Some were as grumpy as grumpy as could be, Some were as merry as again you will see. And when the feast had started, From nearby bushes, little figures darted They were the greedy little eives, Who to the feast, had invited themselves. With cheers loud and hearty, They rushed to spoil the Goblin’s party They broke the bottles of Goblin Ale, Which made the goblins’ faces turn pale. But one brave little fellow, stepped forward and said: “The next one to touch our food, I’ll behead.” The elves only jeered this poor little fellow, And one began to laugh and merrily bellow. At this, the goblins made a rush, and all the elves were seized, To be bound hands and feet to the tall poplar trees; And they looked a pitiful sight. After their unsuccessful fight. So now at night when listening, You hear three hearty cheers You’ll know it is the goblins’ joyous ring Of happiness, when the victory is theirs. (3 Marks to Leith McCunn, age 11.) SPRING Roses are opening red, pink and white, Birds sing gaily in the dawning light. 1 Blue bells seem to softly chime, | As they swing in rhythmic time. | The fragrance of the wallflowers go, Where’er the summer breezes blow. (3 Marks to Eileen Marshall, age 8.)