 | A merry-go-round of song |  |
29
QUEEN HONEYSUCKLE
Don't bring the Honeysuckle home!
She doesn't want to come.
Knee-deep in water in a jar,
She cannot see her favourite star
When Night reveals how many eyes
Are counting comets in the skies.
She cannot hear the nightingale
Tell yet once more the glowing tale
He packed so tightly in his brain
When starting for an English lane,
Because he hoped to win a meek
Young spinster with his fluent beak.
She doesn't want to come.
Knee-deep in water in a jar,
She cannot see her favourite star
When Night reveals how many eyes
Are counting comets in the skies.
She cannot hear the nightingale
Tell yet once more the glowing tale
He packed so tightly in his brain
When starting for an English lane,
Because he hoped to win a meek
Young spinster with his fluent beak.
Don't bring the Honeysuckle home!
She doesn't want to come.
She longs to stay and hear the words
Of lessons taught by elder birds
To fluffy classes, not too big,
That sit and learn upon a twig.
She wants to gather what the wren
Advises if his nervous hen
Is worried by the distant noise
Of slowly-nearing girls and boys,
Who chase each other round and round,
And bounce like balls upon the ground.
She doesn't want to come.
She longs to stay and hear the words
Of lessons taught by elder birds
To fluffy classes, not too big,
That sit and learn upon a twig.
She wants to gather what the wren
Advises if his nervous hen
Is worried by the distant noise
Of slowly-nearing girls and boys,
Who chase each other round and round,
And bounce like balls upon the ground.
Don't bring the Honeysuckle home!
She doesn't want to come.
Would you, if you were born to grow
With leafy hedgeside neighbours? No!
She's hot and weary when she stands,
A faded prisoner, in your hands,
And keeps on wishing you would cease
To think the nursery mantelpiece
A proper place for one who's been
A scented and delicious Queen,
Accepting in a thousand vales
The compliments of nightingales.
She doesn't want to come.
Would you, if you were born to grow
With leafy hedgeside neighbours? No!
30
A faded prisoner, in your hands,
And keeps on wishing you would cease
To think the nursery mantelpiece
A proper place for one who's been
A scented and delicious Queen,
Accepting in a thousand vales
The compliments of nightingales.
| A merry-go-round of song | |