A Lady Comes to an Inn
Three strange men came to the Inn, one was a black man, pocked and thin, one was brown 
with a silver knife, and
one brought with him a beautiful wife.
That lovely woman had hair as pale as French champagne or finest ale, that lovely 
woman was long and slim as a
young white birch or a maple limb.
Her face was like cream, her mouth was a rose, what language she spoke nobody knows, 
but sometimes she'd
scream like a cockatoo and swear wonderful oaths
that nobody knew.
Her great silk skirts like a silver bell down to her little bronze slippers fell, and 
her low-cut gown showed a dove in its
nest in blue tattooing across her breast.
Nobody learned the lady's name, nor the marvellous land from which they came, but 
still they tell through the
countryside the tale  of those men and that beautiful bride.
ELIZABETH COATSWORTH

The  Cowboy's Life
The bawl of a steer, To a cowboy's ear, Is music of sweetest strain; And 
the yelping notes Of the gay coyotes To him
are a glad refrain.
For a kingly crown In the noisy town His saddle he wouldn't change; No 
life so free As the life we see Way out on the
Yaso range.
The rapid beat Of his bronco's feet On the sod as he speeds along, Keeps 
living time To the ringing rhyme Of his
rollicking cowboy song.
The winds may blow And the thunder growl Or the breezes may safely moan – A cowboy's 
life Is a royal life, His saddle his kingly throne.
JAMES BARTON ADAMS

Storm
You crash over the trees, you crack the live branch - the branch is white, the green 
crushed, each leaf 
is rent like split wood.
You burden the trees with black drops, you swirl and crash - you have broken off a 
weighted leaf in the 
wind, it is hurled out, whirls up and sinks, a green stone.
HILDA DOOLITTLE ALDINGTON

Kiph
My Uncle Ben, who's been To Bisk, Bhir, Biak - Been, and come back: To Tab, Tau, Tze, 
and Tomsk, And home, by Teneriffe:
Who, brown as desert sand, Gaunt, staring, slow and stiff, 
Has chased the Unicorn
 And Hippogriff,
 Gave me smooth, small, shining stone,
 Called Kiph.
 "Look'ee, now, Nevvy mine,"
 He told me – "If
 You'd wish a wish,
 Just rub this smooth, small, shining stone,
 Called Kiph."
 Hide it did I,
 In a safe, secret spot;
 Slept, and the place
 In dreams forgot.
 One wish alone
 Now's mine: Oh, if
 I could but find again
 That stone called Kiph!
 WALTER DE LA MARE

Sunning
Old Dog lay in the summer sun Much too lazy to rise and run.
He flapped an ear At a buzzing fly. He winked a half opened Sleepy eye.
He scratched himself
On an itching spot,
As he dozed on the porch
Where the sun was hot. He whimpered a bit
From force of habit
While he lazily dreamed
Of chasing a rabbit.
But Old Dog happily lay in the sun Much to lazy to rise and run.
JAMES S. TIPPETT

On Mount Buffalo  
On Mount Buffalo The trees Are up to their knees In snow.
BRIAN CANNING (10)

Dinky
O what's the weather in a Beard? It's windy there, and rather weird, And when, you 
think the sky has 
cleared - Why,
there is Dirty Dinky.
Suppose you walk out in a Storm With nothing on to keep you warm, And then step 
barefoot on a Worm 
- Of course,
it's Dirty Dinky.
As I was crossing a hot hot Plain, I saw a sight that caused me pain, You asked me 
before, I'll tell 
you again: - It
looked like Dirty Dinky.
Last night you lay a-sleeping? No! The room was thirty-five below; The sheets and 
blankets turned to 
snow. - He'd got
in: Dirty Dinky.
You'd better watch the things you do,
You'd better watch the things you do,
You're part of him; he's part of you - You may be Dirty Dinky.
 THEODORE ROETHKE 

I Look Like a Girl
I look like a girl
I feel like a girl
and I squeal girl like a girl.
JILL SHORT (9)

Little Fish
The tiny fish enjoy themselves in the sea. Quick little splinters of life, their 
little lives are fun to them in the sea.
D. H. LAWRENCE
drawing by Faye Owner

The Old Stone House
Nothing on the grey roof, nothing on the brown,
Only a little greening where the rain drips down;
Nobody at the window, nobody at the door,
Only a little hollow which a foot once wore;
But still I tread on tiptoe, still tiptoe on I go, Past nettles, porch, and weedy 
well, for oh, I 
know A friendless face is
peering, and a clear still eye
Peeps closely through the casement as my step goes by.
WALTER DE LA MARE  drawing by Faye Owner

Queen Nefertiti
Spin a coin, spin a coin,
All fall down; Queen Nefertiti
Stalks through the town.
Over the pavements
Her feet go clack, Her legs are as tall
As a chimney-stack;
Her fingers flicker
Like snakes in the air, The walls split open
At her green-eyed stare;
Her voice is thin
As the ghosts of bees;
She will crumble your bones,
She will make your blood freeze.
Spin a coin, spin a coin,
All fall down;
Queen Nefertiti
Stalks through the town.
ANONYMOUS

My Cats
I like to toss him up and down A heavy cat weighs half a Crown With a hey do diddle my 
cat Brown.
I like to pinch him on the sly When nobody is passing by With a hey do diddle my cat 
Fry.
I like to ruffle up his pride And watch him skip and turn aside With a hey do diddle 
my cat Hyde.
Hey Brown and Fry and Hyde my cats That sit on tombstones for your mats.
STEVIE SMITH

Water
The world turns softly
Not to spill its lakes and rivers,
The water is held in its arms
And the sky is held in the water. What is water That pours silver, And can hold the 
sky?
HILDA CONKLING

The Lizard
Little Lizard, all alone, Basking on that sunny stone, Which you mask so cunningly, 
You are very hard 
to see; Still
too as a stone you lie; But I see a shining eye, And I know that if I made One step 
forward, like a 
shade Quietly
you would be gone, Little spirit of the stone.
E. L. M. KING

Autumn
Whirling leaves, golden and brown, Twisting and turning, Hurrying down.
Driving wind, gusty and strong, Whistling and sighing, Rushing along.
Scudding clouds, grey-leaden sky, Laughing and playing, Galloping by.
Roaming birds, gathered for flight, Chirping and preening, Seeking sunlight.
Curling smoke, mindful of fires, Blowing and puffing, Hiding the spires.
Drooping rose, scattered to earth, Dying and fading, Waiting new birth.
F. POLITZER

Pete at the Zoo
I wonder if the elephant Is lonely in his stall When all the boys and girls 
are gone And there's no shout at all And
there's no one to stamp before, No one to note his might. Does he hunch up, 
as I do, Against the dark of night?
GWENDOLYN BROOKS

The Sea
The sea is a hungry dog, Giant and grey. He rolls on the beach all day. With his 
clashing teeth and shaggy jaws
Hour upon hour he gnaws The rumbling tumbling stones,
And "Bones, bones, bones, bones!"
The giant sea-dog moans, Licking his greasy paws.
And when the night wind roars And the moon rocks in the stormy cloud,
He bounds to his feet and snuffs and sniffs, Shaking his wet sides over the cliffs, 
And howls and hollos long and loud.
But on quiet days in May or June, When even the grasses on the dune Play no more their 
reedy tune, With his head between his paws He lies on the sandy shores, So quiet, so 
quiet, he scarcely snores.
JAMES REEVES

In the Orchard
There was a giant by the Orchard Wall Peeping about on this side and on that, And 
feeling in the trees. He was as tall As the big apple tree, and twice as fat: His 
beard poked out, all bristly-black, and there Were leaves and gorse and heather in his 
hair.
He held a blackthorn club in his right hand, And plunged the other into every tree, 
Searching for something – You could stand Beside him and not reach up to his knee, So 
big he was – I trembled lest he should Come trampling, round-eyed, down to where I 
stood.
I tried to get away. – But as I slid Under a bush, he saw me, and he bent Down deep at 
me, and said, "Where is she hid?" I pointed over there, and off he went – 
But, while he searched, I turned and simply flew Round by the lilac bushes back to 
you.
JAMES STEPHENS

At the Keyhole
"Grill me some bones," said the Cobbler,
"Some bones, my pretty Sue; I'm tired of my lonesome with heels and soles, Springsides 
and uppers too; A mouse in the wainscot is nibbling; A wind in the keyhole drones; And 
a sheet webbed over my candle, Susie, - Grill me some bones!" 
"Grill me some bones," said the Cobbler,
"I sat at my tic-tac-to; And a footstep came to my door and stopped, And a hand groped 
to and fro; And I peered up over my boot and last; And my feet went cold as stones: - 
I saw an eye at the keyhole, Susie! – Grill me some bones!"
WALTER DE LA MARE

Dandelions
Over the climbing meadows Where swallow-shadows float, These are the small gold 
buttons On earth's green, windy coat.
FRANCES M. FROST

Night Train
Across the dim frozen fields of night
Where is it going, where is it going?
No throb of wheels, no rush of light.
Only a whistle blowing, blowing.
Only a whistle blowing.
Something echoing through my brain,
Something timed between sleep and waking,
Murmurs, murmurs this may be the train
I must be sometime, somewhere taking,
I must be sometime taking.
ROBERT FRANCIS

Breeze
Gentle as a feather Cat quiet Snow soft Gentle, gentle as a feather Softer than snow 
Quiet as a cat 
Comes The evening breeze.
MARIE HOURIGAN (Age 11)

Old Mr Tatterlock
Old Mr Tatterlock walks quite slow;
His joints are stiff and he taps his stick.
 I go a rush and a-tumble-O,
And my racing feet cry, "Quick, quick, quick!"
Old Mr Tatterlock's boots are bright,
just footpath walks are the walks he takes,
 With never a speck of mud in sight,
 So his toes have stars that the sunlight makes.
 I love puddles and gutters and ruts
 And the rough red tracks that the wagons choose;
 Old Mr Tatterlock tut-tut-tuts
 And blinks at the mud on my old brown shoes.
 If ever my feet stop flying quick - 
 I hope they won't but you never can tell - 
 If my joints grow stiff and I tap my stick
 And keep my shoes shone ever so well,
 Then I'll meet rough boys who have been for walks
 On the rough red tracks that the wagons choose,
 And I'll mimic the way old Tatterlock talks
 And tut-tut-tut at their mud-splashed shoes.
 IRENE CHEYNE


