Thread: Need a Poem?
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Old 02-12-2009, 09:12 AM   #225
Rush'd Lady
Mad Swapper
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Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Ordinary American Citizen!
Posts: 1,536
Default more miscellaneous . . .

What Are Little Girls Made Of?

What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and everything nice,
That's what little girls are made of.

What Are Little Boys Made Of?

What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Frogs and snails, and puppy dogs' tails,
And that's what little boys are made of!
-- Attributed to Mother Goose.
The kiss of sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth--
One is nearer God's Heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
-- Dorothy Frances Gurney (1894-1962), The Lord God Planted a Garden

The Artist
By Elder Roosevelt Herring, 1935.

With icicles for pencil points
And soft white snow for paint,
Our artist friend, Jack Frost, you know
Draws pictures that are quaint.

Tall castles that are crowned with jewels
When winter sun shines through,
And frosty flowers blossom there
With crystal stars for dew.

White mountains tower up so high,
And icy plains so vast.
Oh, what a shame, when Jack Frost draws,
His pictures never last.
Bread Making
By E. L.M. King.

Mother's kneading, kneading dough,
In and out her knuckles go;
Till the sticky, shapeless lump
Grows a pillow, smooth and plump.

Then she cuts, pops it in
To the neatly buttered tin,
Leaves it rising high and higher,
While she goes to make the fire.

How the the glad flames leap and roar,
Through the open oven-door;
Till their hot breath, as they play,
Makes us wink and run away.

When they've burnt to embers red
Mother shovels in the bread;
And that warm, delicious smell
Tells her it is baking well.

When it's golden, just like wheat,
We shall get a crust to eat;
How I wish we could be fed
Every day on new-made bread!
To a Little Girl
By Gustav Korbe.

Her eyes are like forget-me-nots,
So loving, kind and true;
Her lips are like a pink sea-shell
Just as the sun shines through;

Her hair is like the waving grain
In summer's golden light;
And, best of all, her little soul
Is, like a lily, white.
We may live without poetry, music and art:
We may live without conscience, and live without heart;
We may live without friends; we may live without books;
But civilized man cannot live without cooks.
-- Owen Meredith, Lucile
T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring -- not even a mouse:
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
-- Clement Clarke Moore, A Visit from St. Nicholas
By Ollie James Robertson.

Writing letters is fun for me;
I must send a lot today,
A dozen at least, maybe more.
In every one I'll say,
"I like the Christmas gift you sent,
It brings me hours of cheer,
And with my thanks I wish for you
The happiest New Year!"
The Swing
By Robert Louis Stevenson.

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think its the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown--
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
Bless This House
By Helen Taylor.

Bless this house, O Lord, we pray,
Make it safe by night and day;
Bless these walls, so firm and stout,
Keeping want and trouble out;
Bless the roof and chimneys tall,
Let they peace lie over all;
Bless this door, that it may prove
Ever open to joy and love.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go:
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam
My Friends
By Elizabeth Whittemore.

My friends are little lamps to me,
Their radiance warms and cheers my ways,
And all the pathway dark and lone
Is brightened by their rays.

I try to keep them bright by faith,
And never let them dim with doubt;
For every time I lose a friend
A little lamp goes out.
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Jesus loves me, this I know . . .
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