 | Short poems for short people |  |
48
A YOUNG POETESS.
I'm going to try and write a little piece;
Of course I cannot write it very well.
I 'm going to say how fond I am of Spring,
And tell whatever else I 've time to tell.
Of course I cannot write it very well.
I 'm going to say how fond I am of Spring,
And tell whatever else I 've time to tell.
(Oh, gracious, I'm afraid it won't be much,
For poetry 's so dreadful hard to do!)
In Spring the bare, brown meadows all get green;
The skies (except on cloudy days) are blue.
For poetry 's so dreadful hard to do!)
In Spring the bare, brown meadows all get green;
The skies (except on cloudy days) are blue.
The leaves begin to form upon the trees;
The buttercups and clovers blossom out.
The brooks are rather deep—and muddy, too,
Which can't be very pleasant for the trout.
The buttercups and clovers blossom out.
The brooks are rather deep—and muddy, too,
Which can't be very pleasant for the trout.
The orchards are all changed to snowy white,
And many lovely birds are on the wing.
I think it might be stated that these birds
Get married and have families in Spring.
And many lovely birds are on the wing.
I think it might be stated that these birds
Get married and have families in Spring.
For often you can find their little nests;
I found a wee one with four eggs in, once.
(Oh, dear, I can't do poetry at all;
The only rhyme to finish with is—dunce).
I found a wee one with four eggs in, once.
(Oh, dear, I can't do poetry at all;
The only rhyme to finish with is—dunce).
| Short poems for short people | |