MORE AUTUMN RICHES.

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20280, 14 April 1934, Page 18 (Supplement)

MORE AUTUMN RICHES.

TIIE BRONZE ELF. Little bronze fairy, the herald of autumn, Dressed in a neat suit of gay russet brown, Laden with paintbox and brushes to colour All trees and plants in both country and town. You are the helper of sweet Annie Autumn, Without you her labour would never be done; So hurry, bronze fairy, and sort out your brushes, Open the paintbox and start the fun, Swiftly the dear green leaves turn co golden,^ Some turn "to red, and others to brown, With a faint happy sigh they at last leave the branches To lie still on the ground when they fall down. Hurry, bronze elf, a white sceptre's behind you; He’ll touch* your work with an icy cold hand; He’ll hide the leaves and the gay crimson berries, And spread a white mantle quite Over the ground. * (Copied). Jack Payne (Woolston). THE MESSAGE. Down in a small, fruitful valley nestled a homely-looking cottage, surrounded by a garden which, in the summer, had been filled with beautiful flowers and which still yielded a few later ones. Round at the east side of the cottage grew several shrubs. Above, the sky was a light, clear blue, with one or two streaks of feathery cloud away to the west. The sun was wending its weary way across the sky and was nearly to its destination. Birds twittered in the huge pine trees which grew behind the cottage. In the rose-covered shelter stood an old rustic seat, on which sat two persons— a little girl named Frances and her mother. The mother was knitting and Frances was reading “ Fairy Tales cf Autumn." All at once she looked up with a bright look of intense anxiety on her small, round face and a look of wonder in her beautiful brown eyes. Her hair was almost black, her cheeks pink, and her lips a red rose colour, while she was wearing a green smock. At this moment she was a perfect picture. “Mummy,” she said, anxiously, 4 ‘ does Autumn ever send you a message as it sends a message to the fairies ? ” “ Yes. Frances, it does,” she answered, patiently, “it sends me and all other people a message, and it is sending me one now. Do you wish me to tell you the message?” *’ Oh, yes. Mummy, do tell me! ” cried the exicted child. " All right.” said the mother. “ Autumn tells me to listen to the birds in the pines; to look and enjoy the beautiful sunset which I am able to see now; to watch the pink fade to orange, and the orange fade to yellow ; to gather those beautiful leaves which fall to the ground in hundreds, and to be happy while the autumn exists each yea! .” “Mummy/* said the happy child, showing a look of satisfaction, “ Autumn is sending me a message, too.” (Original). Lydia Laraman (Rakaia).

AX AUTUMN MORNING. Golden leaves, golden leaves, Give me your treasure! 44 Perfume and dancing joy without measure.” Furry-tail, furry-tail. Why are you merry? 44 See Nature’s bounty in acorn and berry! ” Browny wings, browny wings. Tell me vour story, 44 Carols of gladness for all Autumn’s glory! ” (Copied.) Lydia Lar&m&n (Rakaia). MICHAELMAS DAISIES. I sing the praises Of Michaelmas daisies— Arrayed in purple, How lovely they are! Gather a bowlful— An armful—a houseful— Crimson and lilac. And little white star. I can’t be sorry That Autumn’s begun. When Michaelmas daisies Are out in the sun. .Rtuft Retallick (Sumner). THfi LESSON IN THE LEAVES. I see the dead 'caves in the dusty , streets, Wrinkled and crisP and thin and brown they lie. Drifting in silence ' jt°und my feet, r * Sh/ting in sorrow the winds pass J And with sadness. others, like ghosts, . ddwn. Taking^HHHHL-itful places on the They runs through the j And are filled with a sad despair All the long 'yA.rs they laboured night From your dead tissues draw their For what? To fall in silence through the air ? To sleep a restless sleep and then decay ? Strange! Strange! And thus, when my bright sky turns to grey, In my life's fall, shall 1 not be filled with fears. Crying: 44 My labours, where, oh, where are they— Drifted in silence with ten thousand years?’* Yet, fallen leaves, I then shall think of you; For. from the very mound where you are sent New life shall spring, and leaves of brighter hue From yor dead tissues draw their nourishment. Mary Molloy (Kotuku). The Autumn page is Starland’s own Which thrills us right to the bone With poems, stories and paintings bright Which make us laugh with sheer delight. (Original.) Ray Lewis (Aranui). 3®@@®®®®®®®®®®@®®®sß®