Ferdinand Frog And The Flea

Ferdinand Frog found a flip-flopping flea frolicking cheerfully.

"What’s this that I see?

Frogs don’t get fleas! This should never happen to me.

Flee little flea. Be away with thee."

"We’ll see," said the flea, sitting on the frog’s knee.

"If first you’ll do something for me."

"What," asked the frog, "could I possibly do for thee?"

"Well," said the flea. "Go find me a dog."

"Or a big bellied hog."

"Yes, there, I might live quite happily."

Ceiling to the Stars

By
Artie Knapp

Illustrations by Chung Oh

Up in the sky, where the stars shine bright,

That’s where I will be;
Enjoying the thrills of outer space,
And all there is to see.

A quick trip to Mars,

Is the first place I will go!
Then it’s off to see Saturn’s rings,
And after that, who knows.

For now though, I’ll stay put;

Mom said lunch is at noon.
But after that, I’ll take-off;
My ship is in my room.
 Looth Tooth
I've got a looth tooth
that wigglth and jigglth and wrigglth.
I move it around
but it never comth out of my mouth.
I pull it, I yank it,
I twirl it, I thpank it,
but it jutht never theems
to want to come out
of ith houth.

I'd call the Tooth Fairy,

but she'th kinda thcary,
Tho I thtill cannot theem to be free
of thith wiggly looth tooth,
that to tell you the truth,
ith makin' a thap outa me.

I'm going to give it

one thuper thtrong yank,
cuth I really could uthe thome money.
Great Scott! It's out! At last, it's out!
But now I'm talking funny.

(C) 1998, Arden Davidson.

Be Careful What You Wish For
Arnie the apple hung from a tree
in an orchard a mile wide.
And every day the pickers would come
and haul dozens of apples inside.

They'd pick the prettiest of the bunch,

filling their baskets and pails.
But they always passed by Arnie,
ignoring his whines and wails.

"Please pick me!", Arnie would cry

each time the pickers sauntered by.
"I want to go inside with you!",
cried Arnie till he turned bright blue.

But the pickers ignored him day after day,

while Arnie hung there in dismay,
trying to nurse his shattered pride,
dying to be picked to be taken inside.

Each new dawn he'd do a trick

like spinning around on his twig.
But the picky pickers never stopped
for apples that weren't big

or juicy or red or bright or sweet.

Poor Arnie was none of these things.
He wasn't completely quite full grown
and he had some nicks and dings.

He dreamed what it was like inside;

lights and music all around.
Arnie just wanted to go there so badly
he flung himself to the ground.

The next day the pickers came along

and saw him lying there.
They took him inside and Arnie thought,
"This is it! I'm finally there!"

But when Arnie the Apple looked around

he realized his dreams were false,
'cause in less than 15 minutes
he was Arnie Applesauce.

(C) 1998, Arden Davidson.

The Land of Mites and Maybees
Long, long ago
on an island far away,
sat The Land of Mites and Maybees
to the left of Backbone Bay.

The mites were hearty creatures,

they would never hurt a soul.
But their problem was they never could
achieve a single goal.

They knew just what they wanted,

and they'd ponder it at length,
but when it came to action,
they just didn't have the strength.

The maybees were quite similar,

with only slight revisions.
They'd say "maybe this" and "maybe that",
but never reached decisions.

There was a king, King Know It All,

who loved to take advantage
of these measly mites and maybees
whom without him could not manage.

Or so they thought, for they'd been told

and learned so deep within
that there's just no sense in trying
when you know you cannot win.

And so the king, with ruling hand

grew stronger every day.
For the mites and maybees just assumed
that his was the best way.

Till one bright day, out of the blue,

a mini-mite was walking
and in his sheltered innocence,
he suddenly began talking.

"Why do we weed our gardens by hand

when it's faster with a hoe?
And why do we sled in summertime
instead of in the snow?
 "Why do we paint our buildings brown,
when red is so much brighter?
And why do we carry sacks of rocks
when stones are so much lighter?"

The mini-mite kept asking more,

like a record that was broken.
Though all of them had thought these things,
none had ever spoken.

"Shhh! Pipe down!", were the frightened cries

as they worried their king would hear.
The mites and maybees looked around,
their eyes spread wide with fear.

"I'll be quiet", said the mini-mite,

"but I just have one more querry.
If there's more of us than there is of him,
why is he so scary?"

The mites and maybees pondered this,

this thought that was quite new.
And as they tugged and wrestled it,
the logic in it grew.

Suddenly everything seemed so clear;

they all had minds of their own,
so why were they letting King Know It All
rule his mighty throne?

Well, it didn't take long once this thought was in place,

for weeds to be pulled out with hoes.
And it didn't take long for paint to be red
and for sleds to be used when it snows.

Soon the king got weaker, and finally left;

Left the whole kingdom far behind.
For he realized that not even he was as strong
as the power of speaking your mind.

(C) 1998, Arden Davidson.

 Cow-ard
I can't. I quit. I won't. That's it. I'm done. I'm through. No more.

No chance. I'm gone. Forget it. So long. Goodbye. I'm out the door.

Drop it. Leave it. Not maybe. No, never! Not ever. No way. No how.

You can't get me, just 3 foot 3 to milk that angry cow.

The Little Maid

A little maid went to market, She went into the town, And all the
things she had to buy She carefully wrote down.

The coffee, sugar, tea, and rice— The currant cake for tea, And then
she had to reckon up, And see how much they'd be.

She sat her down as she came back, She sat her down to see What
they had cost—the currant cake, The coffee, and the tea.

She could not make her money right, And yet, how she did try! She
could not make her money right, And oh! how she did cry.

She's counting still, my dears, my dears, She's counting day and night,
But though she counts for years and years, She'll never make it right.

She'll never make it right—right—right, Oh! never any more, Though

she sits counting—count—count—count, Till she is ninety-four.

 Someone Came Knocking

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Some one came knocking,
I'm sure - sure - sure; 
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But naught there was a-stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall, 
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call, 
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall, 
So I know not who came knocking, 
At all, at all, at all.
 The ants go marching

The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching one by one,
The little one stops to suck his thumb
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! 
The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching two by two,
The little one stops to tie his shoe
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching three by three,
The little one stops to climb a tree
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching four by four, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching four by four,
The little one stops to shut the door
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching five by five, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching five by five, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching five by five,
The little one stops to take a dive
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching six by six, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching six by six,
The little one stops to pick up sticks
 And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching seven by seven, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching seven by seven,
The little one stops to pray to heaven
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching eight by eight, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching eight by eight,
The little one stops to shut the gate
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching nine by nine, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching nine by nine, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching nine by nine,
The little one stops to check the time
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah

The ants go marching ten by ten, hurrah, hurrah
The ants go marching ten by ten,
The little one stops to say "THE END"
And they all go marching down to the ground
To get out of the rain, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

MY DOGGY ATE MY HOMEWORK 

- by Dave Crawley

"My doggy ate my homework.

He chewed it up," I said.
 But when I offered my excuse
My teacher shook her head.

I saw this wasn't going well.

I didn't want to fail.
Before she had a chance to talk,
I added to the tale:

"Before he ate, he took my work

And tossed it in a pot.
He simmered it with succotash
Till it was piping hot.

"He scrambled up my science notes

With eggs and bacon strips,
Along with sauted spelling words
And baked potato chips.

"He then took my arithmetic

And had it gently fried.
He broiled both my book reports
With pickles on the side.

"He wore a doggy apron

As he cooked a notebook stew.
He barked when I objected.
There was nothing I could do."

"Did he wear a doggy chef hat?"

My teacher gave a scowl.
"He did," I said. "And taking it
Would only make him growl."

My teacher frowned, but then I said

As quickly as I could,
"He covered it with ketchup,
And he said it tasted good."

"A talking dog who likes to cook?"

My teacher had a fit.
She sent me to the office,
And that is where I sit.

I guess I made a big mistake

In telling her all that.
'Cause I dont have a doggy.
It was eaten by my cat.
A BAD CASE OF SNEEZES 
- by Bruce Lansky
Last night I had the sneezes.
I was really very ill.
My mother called the doctor
who prescribed a purple pill.

At eight o’clock I went to bed.

My mom turned out the light.
I used up one whole box of Kleenex
sneezing through the night.

I sneezed my brains out in my bed.

I didn’t get much rest.
So that’s the reason, teacher,
that I flunked the spelling test.

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS 

- by Bruce Lansky

Last year I did some rotten things.

This year I will be better.
Here are some resolutions
I will follow to the letter:

I won’t make dumb excuses

when my homework isn’t done;
when the truth is that I did no work
’cause I was having fun.

I won’t fly paper airplanes

when the teacher isn’t looking.
I won’t sneak in the kitchen
just to taste what they are cooking.
I will not twist the silverware
 to see how far it bends.
I will not take the candy bars
from lunch bags of my friends.

I will not skateboard down the hall

or skateboard down the stairs.
I won’t run over teachers,
and I won’t crash into chairs. 

I will not do these rotten things;

my heart is full of sorrow.
But I have got some brand-new tricks
to try in school tomorrow.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, 

How I wonder what you are! 
Up above the world so high, 
Like a diamond in the sky!

When the blazing sun is gone, 

When he nothing shines upon, 
Then you show your little light, 
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark, 

Thanks you for your tiny spark, 
He could not see which way to go, 
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep, 

And often through my curtains peep, 
For you never shut your eye, 
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark, 

Lights the traveller in the dark, 
Though I know not what you are, 
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
The Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child's Story
Robert Browning

I
HAMELIN Town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city;
The river Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin, was a pity.

II
Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

III
At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking:
" 'T is clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
And as for our Corporation - shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you're old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease?
 Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV
An hour they sat in council;
At length the Mayor broke silence:
"For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell,
I wish I were a mile hence!
It's easy to bid one rack one's brain -
I'm sure my poor head aches again,
I've scratched it so, and all in vain.
Oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap!"
Just as he said this, what should hap
At the chamber-door but a gentle tap?
"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "What's that?"
(With the Corporation as he sat,
Looking little though wondrous fat;
Nor brighter was his eye nor moister
Than a too-long-opened oyster,
Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous
For a plate of turtle green and glutinous)
"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?
Anything like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

V
"Come in!" - the Mayor cried, looking bigger:
And in did come the strangest figure!
His queer long coat from heel to head
Was half of yellow and half of red,
And he himself was tall and thin,
With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,
And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,
No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,
 But lips where smiles went out and in;
There was no guessing his kith and kin:
And nobody could enough admire
The tall man and his quaint attire.
Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire,
Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone,
Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

VI
He advanced to the council-table:
And "Please, your honors," said he, "I'm able,
By means of a secret charm, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun,
That creep or swim or fly or run,
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper."
(And here they noticed round his neck
A scarf of red and yellow stripe,
To match with his coat of the self-same cheque;
And at the scarf's end hung a pipe;
And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
As if impatient to be playing
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
Over his vesture so old-fangled.)
"Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am,
In Tartary I freed the Cham,
Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats;
I eased in Asia the Nizam
Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats;
And as for what your brain bewilders,
If I can rid your town of rats
Will you give me a thousand guilders?"
"One? fifty thousand!" - was the exclamation
Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

VIII
Into the street the Piper stept,
Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
Then, like a musical adept,
To blow his pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled.
 Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives,
Followed the Piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped advancing,
And step by step they followed dancing,
Until they came to the river Weser,
Wherein all plunged and perished!
- Save one, who, stout as Julias Caeser,
Swam across and lived to carry
(As he, the manuscript he cherished)
to Rat-land home his commentary:
Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
Into a cider-press's gripe,
And a moving away of pickle tub-boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,
And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks:
And it seemed as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or psaltery
Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice!
The world is grown to one vast drysaltery!
So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!'
And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,
All ready staved, like a great sun shone,
Glorious scarce an inch before me,
Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'
- I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

VIII
You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.
"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles,
 Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
Consult with carpenters and builders,
And leave in our town not even a trace
of the rats!" - when suddenly, up the face
Of the Piper perked in the market-place,
With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

IX
A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue.
So did the corporation too.
For council dinners made rare havoc
With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
And half the money would replenish
Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
With a gypsy coat of red and yellow!
"Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,
"Our business was ended at the river's brink;
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
And what's dead can't come to life, I think;
So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
From the duty of giving you something for drink,
And a matter of money to put in your poke;
But as for the guilders, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
Beside, our losses have made us thrifty.
A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

X
The Piper's face fell, and he cried,
"No trifling, I can't wait, beside!
I've promised to visit by dinner time
Bagdat, and accept the prime
Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in
For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen
Of a nest of scorpions no survivor,
With him I proved no bargain-driver.
With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver!
And folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe after another fashion."

XI
"How?" cried the Mayor, "D'ye think I brook
Being worse treated than a cook?
Insulted by a lazy ribald
With idle pipe and vesture piebald?
 You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

XII
Once more he stept into the street,
And to his lips again,
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling;
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII
The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping by,
- Could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
But how the Mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the piper turned from the High Street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However, he turned from South to West,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.
"He never can cross that mighty top!
He's forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our children stop!"
When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed,
And the Piper advanced and the children followed,
And when all were in to the very last,
 The door in the mountain-side shut fast.
Did I say all? No! one was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way;
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say, -
"It's dull in our town since my playmates left!
I can't forget that I'm bereft
Of all the pleasant sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue,
And everything was strange and new;
The sparrows were brighter then peacocks here,
And their dogs outran our fallow deer,
And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagles' wings;
And just as I became assured
My lame foot would be speedily cured,
The music stopped and I stood still,
And found myself outside the hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that country more!"

XIV
Alas, alas for Hamelin!
There came into many a burgher's pate
A text which says that heaven's gate
Opes to the rich at as easy rate
As the needle's eye takes a camel in!
The Mayor sent East, West, North and South
To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,
Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,
And bring the children behind him.
But when they saw 't was a lost endeavor,
And Piper and dancers were gone forever,
They made a decree that lawyers never
Should think their records dated duly
If, after the day of the month and year,
These words did not as well appear,
"And so long after what happened here
On the Twenty-second of July,
 Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:"
And the better in memory to fix
The place of the children's last retreat,
They called it, the Pied Piper's Street -
Where anyone playing on pipe or tabor,
Was sure for the future to lose his labor.
Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern
To shock with mirth a street so solemn.
But opposite the place of the cavern
They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great church-window painted
The same, to make the world acquainted
How their children were stolen away,
And there it stands to this very day.
And I must not omit to say
That in Transylvania there's a tribe
Of alien people who ascribe
The outlandish ways and dress
On which their neighbors lay such stress,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison
Into which they were trepanned
Long time ago in a mighty band
Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
But how or why, they don't understand.

XV
So, Willy, let me and you be wipers
Of scores out with all men - especially pipers!
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise!

Three Little Kittens

 Three little kittens,
They lost their mittens, 
And they began to cry,
Oh, mother, dear, 
We sadly fear, 
Our mittens we have lost.

What! Lost your mittens,

You naughty kittens,
Then you shall have no pie. 
Meow, meow, 
Then you shall have no pie.

The three little kittens, 

They found their mittens, 
And they began to cry, 
Oh, mother, dear, 
See here, see here, 
Our mittens we have found.

What, found your mittens, 

Then you're good kittens,
And you shall have some pie. 
Purr-rr, purr-rr, 
Then you shall have some pie.

Three little kittens, 

Put on their mittens, 
And soon ate up the pie. 
Oh, mother, dear, 
We sadly fear, 
Our mittens we have soiled.

What! Soiled your mittens,

You naughty kittens, 
And they began to sigh. 
Meow, meow, 
And they began to sigh.
 The three little kittens,
They washed their mittens,
And hung them out to dry. 
Oh, mother, dear, 
Do you not hear, 
Our mittens we have washed?

What! Washed your mittens? 

Then you're good kittens! 
But I smell a rat close by. 
Meow, meow, 
We smell a rat close by.

Sympathy
by Rabindranath Tagore
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)

If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear,

would you say "No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?

Would you drive me off, saying to me,

"Go away, you naughty little puppy"?

Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me and l
never let you feed me any more.

If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby,

mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?

Would you shake your finger at me and say,

"What an ungrateful wretch of a bird!
It is gnawing at its chain day and night"?

Then go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods;
I will never let you take me in your arms again.

The First Jasmines

by Rabindranath Tagore
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)

AH, these jasmines, these white jasmines!

I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands
with these jasmines, these white jasmines.
 I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river
through the darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road the lonely
waste, like a bride raising her veil to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines that I held
in my hands when I was a child.

Many a glad day has come in my life,

and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights.

On grey mornings of rain

I have crooned many an idle song.

I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of

BAKULAS woven by the hand of love.

Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines that
filled my hands when I was a child.

Twelve O'Clock
by Rabindranath Tagore
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)

Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now.

I have been at my book all the morning.

You say it is only twelve o'clock.

Suppose it isn't very late; can't you ever think
it is afternoon when it is only twelve o'clock?

I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached

the edge of that rice-field, and the old fish-woman is
gathering herbs for her supper by the side of the pond.

I can just shut my eyes and think

that the shadows are growing darker
under the MADAR tree, and the water
in the pond looks shiny black.

If twelve o'clock can come in the night,

why can't the night come when it is twelve o'clock?

The Valiant
by Rabindranath Tagore
 Just imagine mother, that you and I
are travelling far (can't remember why)
your palanquin's rocking to and fro
with four beherAs going heiyA-ho
besides them I am trotting along
on my little red pony, singing a song.

My hoof-dust clouds the end of day

thorn-bushes bleak in the low sun's ray
it's barren, barren, every which way
even the animals have gone away
imagine it's dark: you can barely see
we've come to the wilds of jorAdighi

We are cutting through the fields of bramble

it's nearly night, the beherAs scramble
the path curves out a little ahead,
we are going over a dead river bed
in the plodding silence, you suddenly shout
"are those lights out there, moving about?"

Just then the cry: "hAre re re re re"

you can hear them charging; utter disarray 
beherAs running helter skelter
you pray to heaven for divine shelter
"mA don't worry!
I am here with you, now _they'll be sorry!"

Skins gleaming in the flickering light

twirling lAThis they come, a fearsome sight 
I yell, "wait!", and "stop right there!
beware my sword now, don't you dare!
just one more step and your blood will spray!"
but they just explode with a "hA re re re re re"

You tell me, all trembling, "khokA, don't go!"

I say, "mA, just watch." and with a "heigh ho",
I spur my horse into the villainous mass
their shields ring out on my cutlass
such a terrible battle, you'd swoon if i say
so many heads cut off, so many run away...
at the end you're weeping, "my khokA is dead!"

Just then i'm back, all sweaty blood-red.

i call out, "mA, it's over, the fight!"
you come out then and hug me tight
 you lift me to your lap with a kiss: "khokA dear,
what _would i have done, if you hadn't been here!"

such useless things happen all the time

why can't _this be true at least one time?
oh then it would be a real fairy tale
everyone would rave, though dAdA would rail:
"pah! how can this be? he isn't even that strong!"
but neighbours would say, "lucky khokA went along!"

Chain of Pearls
by Rabindranath Tagore

Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck 

with my tears of sorrow.

The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet, 
but mine will hang upon thy breast.

Wealth and fame come from thee 

and it is for thee to give or to withhold them. 
But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, 
and when I bring it to thee as my offering 
thou rewardest me with thy grace.

My Song
by Rabindranath Tagore

This song of mine will wind its music around you,

my child, like the fond arms of love.

The song of mine will touch your forehead

like a kiss of blessing.

When you are alone it will sit by your side and

whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd
it will fence you about with aloofness.

My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,

it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.

It will be like the faithful star overhead

when dark night is over your road.

My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,

and will carry your sight into the heart of things;
 And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.

Hide and Seek

by Rabindranath Tagore

If I play a mischievous trick and blossom as a flower

in the Chanpa tree
and early in the morning roll over the tender leaves
of the branch,
you would then- oh mother - loose out to me
as it is doubtful that you would be able to recognise me.
You will be shouting “Khoka, where are you?”
I will just keep quiet and smile.

When you will be busy doing your chores,

I will keep a watch over it all with my eyes open.
After taking bath - with your hair unkempt -
you will pass the Chanpa tree as you go to the
puja room from where you will be getting smell
of the flowers coming from a distance.
At the time, you will not know that the smell
that was coming was from your Khoka’s body.

In the afternoon after others have finished their meal,

you will sit down with the Mahabharata in your hand
and the shadow of the tree coming through the window
will fall on your back and on your lap.
On my part, I will be swinging my tiny shadow
over the pages of your book.
Even then, you won’t have any idea that it is the
shadow of your Khoka that is floating across you eyes.

In the evening after lighting the lamp

you will proceed to the cow-shed
and at that time, mother - acting like a flower -
I will shed myself and drop to the ground.
Again I will become your Khoka and will come to you
and demand, “Please tell me a story.”
You will ask, “You naughty boy, where have you been?”
I will simply say, “That I won’t tell you.”

Old Mother Hubbard

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone,
when she got there the cupboard was bare and so the poor dog had
none.

She went to the baker's to buy him some bread but when she came
back the poor dog was dead.

She went to the joiner's to buy him a coffin but when she came back
the poor dog was laughing.

She took a clean dish to get him some tripe but when she came back
he was smoking a pipe.

She went to the fishmonger's to buy him some fish but when she came
back he was licking the dish.

She went to the alehouse to get him some beer but when she came
back the dog sat in a chair.

she went to the tavern for white wine and red but when she came
back the dog stood on his head.

She went to the hatter's to buy him a hat but when she came back he
was feeding the cat.

She went to the barber's to buy him a wig but when she came back he
was dancing a jig.

She went to the fruiter's to buy him some fruit but when she came
back he was playing the flute.

She went to the tailor's to buy him a coat but when she came back he
was riding a goat.

She went to the cobbler's to buy him some shoes but when she came
back he was reading the news.
 Mary's Lamb 
Sarah Josepha Hale

Mary had a little lamb,

Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go;
He followed her to school one day-
That was against the rule,
It made the children laugh and play
To see a lamb at school.

And so the teacher turned him out,

But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about,
Till Mary did appear.
And then he ran to her and laid
His head upon her arm,
As if he said, "I'm not afraid-
You'll shield me from all harm."

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?"

The little children cry;
"Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know,"
The teacher did reply,
"And, you, each gentle animal
In confidence may bind,
And make it follow at your call,
If you are always kind."

Robin Redbreast
William Allinghamn
 Goodbye, goodbye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away-
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robing singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,

The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The leathery pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
"Twill soon be winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near.

The fireside for the Cricket,

The wheatsack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow-
Alas! in Winter, dead, and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

Father William
Lewis Carroll
 "You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head-
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,

"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, " as I mentioned before,

And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door-
Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,

"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment-one shilling the box-
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, " and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the back-
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,

And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was steady as ever;
Yet, you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-
What made you so awfully clever?"
"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"
 The Lamb
William Blake

Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;

Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a lamb;
He is meek and he is mild,
He became a little child.
A child and thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!

The Tiger
William Blake

Tiger Tiger. burning bright,

In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.

 Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears

And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The frog and the bird

Vera Hessey

By a quiet little stream on an old mossy log;

Looking very forlorn, sat a little green frog;
He'd a sleek speckled back, and two bright yellow eyes,
And when dining, selected the choicest of flies.

The sun was so hot, he scarce opened his eyes,

Far too lazy to stir, let alone watch for flies,
He was nodding, and nodding, and almost asleep,
When a voice in the branches chirped, 'Froggie, cheep, cheep!'

'You'd better take care,' piped the bird to the frog,

'In the water you'll be if you fall off that log.
Can't you see that the streamlet is up to the brim?'
 Croaked the froggie, 'What odds! You forget I can swim!'

Then the froggie looked up at the bird perched so high

On a bough that to him seemed to reach to the sky;
So he croaked to the bird: 'If you fall you will die!'
Chirped the birdie, 'What odds! You forget I can fly!

Forgiven
A. A. Milne 

I found a little beetle; so that Beetle was his name,

And I called him Alexander and he answered just the same.
I put him in a match-box, and I kept him all the day ...
And Nanny let my beetle out -
Yes, Nanny let my beetle out -
She went and let my beetle out -
And Beetle ran away.

She said she didn't mean it, and I never said she did,
She said she wanted matches and she just took off the lid,
She said that she was sorry, but it's difficult to catch
An excited sort of beetle you've mistaken for a match.

She said that she was sorry, and I really mustn't mind,
As there's lots and lots of beetles which she's certain we could find,
If we looked about the garden for the holes where beetles hid -
And we'd get another match-box and write BEETLE on the lid.

We went to all the places which a beetle might be near,

And we made the sort of noises which a beetle likes to hear,
And I saw a kind of something, and I gave a sort of shout:
"A beetle-house and Alexander Beetle coming out!"

It was Alexander Beetle I'm as certain as can be,

And he had a sort of look as if he thought it must be Me,
And he had a sort of look as if he thought he ought to say:
"I'm very very sorry that I tried to run away."

And Nanny's very sorry too for you-know-what-she-did,

 And she's writing ALEXANDER very blackly on the lid,
So Nan and Me are friends, because it's difficult to catch
An excited Alexander you've mistaken for a match.

Rich kid
Arden Davidson 

I found a quarter in a pay phone.

Boy, am I excited!
I'm feeling mighty, mighty rich
and I don't plan to hide it.

I think I'll buy a baseball.

Hmmmm. I don't have quite enough.
Instead I'll buy a rag doll.
Boy, this shopping stuff is tough.

Okay, I'll buy a pizza.

No, I'm still a little shy.
How 'bout a bag of onion rings?
Well, it was worth a try.

I've searched for half the day now

for one thing I can afford,
and now I have to tell you
that I'm growing rather bored.

I guess I'll buy some gumballs

so that I can finally end it.
It's amazing how long a quarter lasts
when you can't afford to spend it.

Animal Talk
 Arden Davidson

I think that I've got it all figured out...

what animal talk is all about.

"Moo" means excuse me, that's my

milk you're takin'.
"Oink" means quit lookin' at me 
like I'm bacon.

"Nay" means no shoes, no shirt,

no ride.
"Baa" means, gee lately it's 
colder outside.

"Arf" means my tail

is my very best feature.
"Meow" means I'm such
an exquisite creature.

"Quack" means this water

is turning quite icy.
"Hiss" means you look
so delicious and spicy.

"Roarrr" means I am
the king of the beasts.
"Honk" means I am
the queen of the geese.

"Grrrr" means I'll eat you

when you go for a walk.
Boy am I glad
I speak animal talk!

Humpty Dumpty
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, 
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall; 
All the King's horses And all the king's men. 
Cannot put Humpty Dumpty Together again.
 Jack and Jill
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water;
Jack fell down, and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.

Pussy Cat, pussy cat

"Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?"
"I've been to London to look at the queen".
"Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there?"
"I frightened a little mouse under her chair".

Doctor Foster
Doctor Foster went to Gloucester
In a shower of rain;
He stepped in a puddle,
Right up to his middle,
And never went there again.

Johny, Johny
Johny, Johny, Yes, Papa.
Eating sugar? No, Papa.
Telling lies? No, Papa.
Open your mouth. Ha! Ha! Ha!

Hickory, Dickory, Dock

Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Hickory, dickory, dock.
 Three Blind Mice 
Three blind mice, see how they run!
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir,
Three bags full;
One for the master,
And one for the dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

One, two,
Buckle my shoe;
Three, four,
Knock at the door;
Five, six.
Pick up sticks;
Seven, eight,
Lay them straight;
Nine, ten,
A big fat hen;
Eleven, twelve,
Dig and delve;
Thirteen, fourteen,
Maids a-courting;
Fifteen, sixteen,
Maids in the kitchen;
 Seventeen, eighteen,
Maids in waiting;
Nineteen, twenty,
My plates empty;

Ding, dong, bell

Ding, dong, bell,
Pussy's in the well!
Who put her in?
Little Tommy Green.
Who pulled her out?
Big Johnny Stout. 
What a naughty boy was that,
To drown poor pussy-cat,
Who never did him any harm,
But killed the mice in his father's barn!

Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep

Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,
And can't tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, and they'll come home,
And bring their tails behind them. 
Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep,
And dreamt she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke, she found it a joke,
For they were still a-fleeting. 
Then up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them;
She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,
For they'd left all their tails behind them.

Little Robin Redbreast

Little Robin Redbreast
Sat upon a rail;
Niddle, naddle, went his head,
Wiggle, waggle, went his tail.
 Wee Willie Winkie 
Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown,
Rapping at the window, crying through the lock,
"Are the children in their beds, for now it's eight o'clock?"

Little Jack Horner

Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner,
Eating his Christmas pie.
He put in his thumb,
And he pulled out a plum,
And said, "What a good boy am I!"

The Rose is Red

The rose is red,
The violet's blue,
Pinks are sweet,
And so are you.

Little Betty Blue

Little Betty Blue
Lost her holiday shoe;
What can little Betty do?
Give her another
To match the other
And then she may walk in two.

Eency Weency Spider

 Eency weency spider climbed up the water spout,
down came the rain and washed the spider out,
out came the sun and dried up all the rain,
now eency-weency spider went up the spout again.

Cobbler, Cobbler, Mend my Shoe

Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe,
Give it a stitch and that will do.
Here's a nail, and there's a prod,
And now my shoe is well shod.