A Book for Kids by Clarence James Dennis (classic english novels .txt) 📖

for a lazy life of ease.
I abhor her mournful call,
Which is not a song at all
But a cross between a whimper and a wheeze.


THE SAILOR

I'd like to be a sailor--a sailor bold and bluff--
Calling out, "Ship ahoy!" in manly tones and gruff.
I'd learn to box the compass, and to reef and tack and luff;
I'd sniff and snifff the briny breeze and never get enough.
Perhaps I'd chew tobacco, or an old black pipe I'd puff,
But I wouldn't be a sailor if . . .
The sea was very rough.
Would you?


THE FAMINE

Cackle and lay, cackle and lay!
How many eggs did you get to-day?
None in the manger, and none in the shed,
None in the box where the chickens are fed,
None in the tussocks and none in the tub,
And only a little one out in the scrub.
Oh, I say! Dumplings to-day.
I fear that the hens must be laying away.


THE FEAST

Cackle and lay, cackle and lay!
How many eggs did you get to-day?
Two in the manger, and four in the shed,
Six in the box where the chickens are fed,
Two in the tussocks and ten in the tub,
And nearly two dozen right out in the scrub.
Hip, hooray! Pudding to-day!
I think that the hens are beginning to lay.


UPON THE ROAD TO ROCKABOUT

Upon the road to Rockabout
I came upon some sheep--
A large and woolly flock about
As wide as it was deep.

I was about to turn about
To ask the man to tell
Some things I wished to learn about
Both sheep and wool as well,

When I beheld a rouseabout
Who lay upon his back
Beside a little house about
A furlong from the track.

I had a lot to talk about,
And said to him "Good day."
But he got up to walk about,
And so I went away--


A CHANGE OF AIR

Now, a man in Oodnadatta
He grew fat, and he grew fatter,
Though he hardly had a thing to eat for dinner;
While a man in Booboorowie
Often sat and wondered how he
Could prevent himself from growing any thinner.

So the man from Oodnadatta
He came down to Booboorowie,
Where he rapidly grew flatter;
And the folk will tell you how he
Urged the man from Booboorowie
To go up to Oodnadatta--
Where he lived awhile, and now he
Is considerably fatter.


POLLY DIBBS

Mrs Dibbs--Polly Dibbs,
Standing at a tub,
Washing other people's clothes--
Rub-Rub-Rub.
Poor, old, skinny arms
White with soapy foam--
At night she takes her shabby hat
And goes off home.

Mrs Dibbs--Polly Dibbs--
Is not very rich.
She goes abroad all day to scrub,
And home at night to stitch.
She wears her shabby hat awry,
Perched on a silly comb;
And people laugh at Polly Dibbs
As she goes home.

Mrs Dibbs--Mother Dibbs--
Growing very old,
Says, "it's a hard world!"
And sniffs and drats the cold.
She says it is a cruel world,
A weary world to roam.
But God will smile on Polly Dibbs
When she goes Home.


* * *


I suspect the Kookaburra,
For his methods are not thorough
In his highly praised campaign against the snakes.
And the small birds, one and all,
Curse him for a cannibal--
Though he certainly is cheerful when he wakes.

* * *


LULLABY

You are much too big to dandle,
And I will not leave the candle.
Go to sleep.
You are growing naughty, rather,
And I'll have to speak to father.
Go to sleep!
If you're good I shall not tell, then.
Oh, a story? Very well, then.
Once upon a time, a king, named Crawley Creep,
Had a very lovely daughter . . . .
You don't want a drink of water!
Go to sleep! There! There! Go to sleep.


* * *


I wonder why I wear a tie. It is not warm to wear;
But if I left it off someone would say it was not there.

I wonder, if I took a whiff of father's pipe for fun,
Would I be big and strong like him, or just his small, sick son?

I wonder when our old white hen will know her squawk betrays her.
I think she lets us find her eggs just so that we shall praise her.

* * *


THE PUBLISHER

I'd like to be a publisher, And publish massive tomes
Written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes--
Science books, and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's,
Books of psycho-surgery to mine the minds of momes,
And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where Topsy roams
When her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading holms;
Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms
To sternly show them how to grow in sands, and clays, and loams,
And bravely burst infinitives, like angry agronomes;
Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes,
On bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs,
Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimsons, mauves, and chromes;
And diagrams to baulk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
I'd set the scientists to work like superheated gnomes,
And make them write and write and write until the printer foams
And lino men, made "loony", go to psychopathic homes.
I'd publish books, I would--large books on ants and antinomes
And palimpsests and palinodes and pallid pallindromes:
But I wouldn't be a publisher if . . . .
I got many "pomes."
Would you?


GOOD NIGHT

And so, Good Night. I'm rather tired.
I hardly thought I'd be required
To draw a lot of pictures, too,
When I arranged to write for you.
I found it hard, but did my best;
And now I need a little rest.
If you are pleased, why, that's all right.
I'm rather tired. And so

GOOD NIGHT!


This very charming gentleman, extremely old and gruff,
He slowly shook his head and took a great big pinch of snuff,
Then he spluttered and he muttered and he loudly shouted "Fie!
To tear your books is wicked sir! and likewise all my eye!"
I don't know what he meant by that. He had such piercing eyes.
And, he said, "Mark--ME--boy! Books will make you wise."

This very charming gentleman said, "Hum," and "Hoity, Toit!
A book is not a building block, a cushion or a quoit.
Soil your books and spoil your books? Is that the thing to do?
Gammon, sir! and Spinach, sir! And Fiddle-faddle, too!"
He blinked so quick, and thumped his stick, then gave me such a stare.
And he said, "Mark--ME--boy! BOOKS--NEED--CARE!"

THE END

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Publication Date: 06-24-2010

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