VERSE OLD AND NEW

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVII, Issue 5, 4 August 1906, Page 35

VERSE OLD AND NEW

A Ballad of Vegetables. BY JOSEPH MEEHAN. A potato went out on a mash And sought an onion bed; •‘That’s pie for me!” observed the squash, And all the beets turned red. •‘Go ’way!” the onion, weeping, cried; “Your love I cannot be; The pumpkin be your lawful bride — You canteloupe with me.” But onward still the tuber came, And lay down at her feet; “You cauliflower by any name And it will smell as wheat; And I, too, am an early rose, And you I’ve come to see; So don’t turnip your lovely nose, But spinachpt with me.” “I do not carrot all to wed, So go, sir. if you please!” The modest onion meekly said, "And lettuce, pray, have peas! Go, think that you have never seen Myself, or smelled my sigh; Too long a maiden 1 have been For favours in your rye!” “Oh. spare a cuss,” the tuber prayed; "My cherryshed bride you'll be; You are the only weeping maid That’s currant now with me!” Am! as the wily tuber spoke He caught her by surprise, And. giving her an artichoke, Devoured her with his eyes. “Philadelphia Record.” « m O £► The Town of Impossibleville. There's a wonderful town named impossibleville, a village eccentric and nice, Where no matter how hot is the midsummer day the iceman leaves plenty of ice; Jhe dairyman never once waters his milk, hut leaves yellow cream in his wake; The baker gives always a full loaf of bread and the butcher serves porterhouse steak; The coal man gives two thousand pounds for a ton, nor weighs up his man with the load; There isn't a lawyer, a judge, or a court, and the old Golden Rule is the code; it lies in the valley twixt Honesty Flats and the top of Millennium Hill. Ami it's peopled by poets and dreamers and such—the town is Impossibleville. ’Tis a wonderful place is Impossinlcvll'e, where there's never a scramble for pelf, Ami the rights of mans neighbour are valued as high as the rights that tie claims for himself; No hand-organ man on the street ever grinds out his ancient, soul-harrowing tunes. Nor the man who must board haunted three times a day with small dishes of watery prunes; There's only one church in Impossibleville, and that one is all that it needs. Nor do people lose sight of the one } rain ‘ f good in the chaff of their musty o'd It's just over there where the Golden Rule Heights overlook the green vale of Good Will. And it s peopled with folks it might please you to meet, is the town of Impossib’e--No sewing society there ever meets unless there is something to sew; Good deeds are the coin of the realm over there, and the whole town is Million- • .lire's Row; The cider’s all made from the ripest of fruit; and, open at bottom or top. The barrel of apples looks equally good, for there’s only one salable crop; Nu matter what happens the cook never quits, nor ever .was one known to scold; The weather is. perfect the whole livelong year, nor ever too hot or too cold;,. It's right over there, near the town of Don't Fret. by the top of Millennium Hill. - ■ ■ And it’s peopled with folks that yon don't often meet, is the town of Impossibleville. ' • 'lf you'd reach (HO cool shades of Impossibleville you must start on your journey in youth, • ■- Turn aside from the main travelled road and set foot on the little-i'ised pathway of Truth, Prows on, past the<t«wns-of Fair Flay, ami Don't Fret, till’you climb up the Golden Rule Heights. And theii you Jook down t the vale of Good Cheer and see all of these wonderful sights. i - < £ ' But many have set with hoperand light hearts determined. tp ; rgach < .this fair Who some way have strayed front the littleused path aiicPtre lost <fiThhe. marsh of Dry Rot, But it’s right ovW Htefe. whfcr# Hie Golden Rule Heights overlook the green vale of Good Will, , And it’s peopled by poets and dreamers and such, Is the town of Impossibleville. J, W. FOLEY,

An Honest Poet to the Editor. This stuff I send is very poor: ’Twere scarcely worth the time it took, It has the same old rustic seat — The grassy mead — the winding brook. I tried to write the thing at night; My head was heavy, quite, as lead; I crashed my fingers through my hair— Alas, the Muse had gone to bed! The metre you will find unique— It rocks on four unsteady feet: Ami, like the policeman that we know, It has a most uncertain beat. The figures are of every shape, And how they crowd for ‘‘standing room”! You should have seen the row they had— One metaphos most met its doom. But. pardon now my greatest sin—--1 tagged a moral at the end! Because I did as masters do. Fray, don't delay my cheque to send! I now enclose the simple verse—’Tis poorly done — but never mind! I'll semi it in — 'tis just as good As lots of other stuff you’ll find! RAR A AVIS. The Sin of Omission. "it isn't rhe thing you do, dear, It’s the thing you leave undone Which gives you a bit of a heartache At the setting of the sun: The tender word forgotten. The letter you did not write, The flower you might have sent, dear, Are your haunting ghostw to-night. “The stone you might have lifted Out of the brother’s way. The bit ot heartsome counsel You were hurried too much to say. The loving touch of the hand, dear, The. gentle, and winsome tone That you had no time nor thought for, With troubles enough of your own. “These little acts of kindness, So easily out of mind. These chances to bo angels Which even mortals find They come- in night and silence Each mild, reproachful wraith. When hope is faint and flagging. And a blight has dropped on faith. “For life is all too short, dear, And sorrow is all too great. To suffer ou.r slow companion That tarries until too late. And it's not rhe thing you do. dear; It's the thing you leave undone. Which gives you the bitter heartache, Ar the setting of the sun.” MAR GA RET E. SA NG STE IL O C> O O O ’ I Wonder Why? When first wo met in the ball-room We both were shy; lie bowed, then asked for a two-step— I wonder why? We did net dance, but sat it out— I felt less shy. Strange! the weather was nut discussed — 1 wonder why? lie asked two dances later on (He was not shy!) I cut another man for him I wonder why? After the ball ho came to call Neither was shy. lie took me to a theatre then 1 wonder why? But now I always wonder why We felt so shy. For he’s the dearest man 1 know —• My husband now. o a a a » Tlie Rajah s Elephant. . The Rajah of Brandipawnec Hail an elephant, tame as could be; Till one day he enraged The poor creature, whin caged, By a very stale liiin for its tea. And the elephant took an. oath lie For this insult a vended would be; And the first chance he got Was when Some foreign ‘“pot” Paid a visit to Brandipawnec. Said the Rajah: “My elephant, see, Is as gentle as gentle with me; He will go through his tricks Like a cat. on hot bricks, For Ills tread Is as light as a flea.’*. And tlie Rajah lay flilt as could be Down in front’of the elephant. He . I’nt- his foot on the.., chest , Of the Rafail. and pressed 7 7 —- (So the jpon rules in Brandipawnee!)