 | A gift book of stories and poems for children |  |
133
ATTEMPT TO WRITE POETRY.
My paper is ruled very neat,
Father 's made me an elegant pen;
I sit quite upright on my seat,
And have every thing ready; what then?
Father 's made me an elegant pen;
I sit quite upright on my seat,
And have every thing ready; what then?
I have scratched my head several times,
And nothing comes out of it yet;
For my life I can't make out the rhymes;
Not a word can I think of but—fret.
And nothing comes out of it yet;
For my life I can't make out the rhymes;
Not a word can I think of but—fret.
Dear mother, do help me a bit,
I'm puzzled—no matter—here goes—
But how the right measure to hit,—
I have a good subject—I know-s.
I'm puzzled—no matter—here goes—
But how the right measure to hit,—
I have a good subject—I know-s.
There once was a widow in trouble,
She was aged, and old, and advanced;
Not a word can I think of but bubble,
And it won't do to say that she danced.
She was aged, and old, and advanced;
134
And it won't do to say that she danced.
A widow she was of great feeling,
Of great feeling this widow was she;
'Twill be shocking to speak of her squealing,
And how can I lug in a flea?
Of great feeling this widow was she;
'Twill be shocking to speak of her squealing,
And how can I lug in a flea?
This widow to woe was a votary,
Oh, mother! you laugh at her woes,
And say I had better quit poetry,
Until I know how to write prose.
Oh, mother! you laugh at her woes,
And say I had better quit poetry,
Until I know how to write prose.
| A gift book of stories and poems for children | |