Hiding

Hiding
Dorothy Aldis

I"m hiding, I'm hiding,
And no one knows where;
For all they can see is my
Toes and my hair.

And I just heard my father
Say to my mother-
"But, darling, he must be
Somewhere or other;

"Have you looked in the ink well?"
And Mother said, "Where?"
"In the INK WELL," said Father. But
I was not there.

Then, "Wait!" cried my mother-
"I think that I see
Him under the carpet." But
It was not me.

"Inside the mirror's
A pretty good place,"
Said Father and looked, but saw
Only his face.

"We've hunted," sighed Mother,
"As hard as we could
And I AM so afraid that we've
Lost him for good."

Then I laughed out aloud
And I wiggled my toes
And Father said- "Look, dear,
I wonder if those

Toes could be Benny's.
There are ten of them. See?"
And they WERE so surprised to find
Out it was me!

Roads

 Roads
Rachel Field

A road might lead to anywhere-
To harbor towns and quays,
Or to a witch's pointed house
Hidden by bristly trees.
It might lead past the tailor's door,
Where he sews with needle and thread,
Or by Miss Pim the milliner's,
With her hats for every head.
It might be a road to a great, dark cave
With treasure and gold piled high,
Or a road with a mountain tied to its end,
Blue-humped against the sky.
Oh, a road might lead you anywhere-
To Mexico or Maine.
But then, it might just fool you, and-
Lead you back home again!

Barefoot Days

 Barefoot Days
Rachel Field

In the morning, very early,
That's the time I love to go
Barefoot where the fern grows curly
And grass is cool between each toe,
On a summer morning-O!
On a summer morning!

That is when the birds go by
Up the sunny slopes of air,
And each rose has a butterfly
Or a golden bee to wear;
And I am glad in every toe-
Such a summer morning' O!
Such a summer morning!

Cobwebs

Cobwebs
E. L. M. King

Between me and the rising sun,
This way and that the cobwebs run;
Their myriad wavering lines of light
Dance up the hill and out of sight.

There is no land possesses half
So many lines of telegraph
As those the spider-elves have spun
Between me and the rising sun. 

The Day Before April

The Day before April
Mary Carolyn Davies

The day before April
Alone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And sat on a stone.

I sat on a broad stone
And sang to the birds.
The tune was God's making
But I made the words.

The Juggler

 THE JUGGLER

There was a squirrel once-
An idle rogue was he,
He had no store of winter nuts
Beneath his greenwood tree.

So when the leaves began to fall
And food was getting dear -
"I must do something soon," said he,
"Or I shall starve, 'tis clear."

And so he hung this notice out -
"The Juggler is at home
Most afternoons, at half-past
four,
Bring lots of nuts and
come."

They came, his friends both great
and small,
And brought the nuts beside,
And Whiskers promptly juggled
them,
Into his own inside.

And so the whole long winter
time
In comfort he did feed.
But you had best not copy
him
In case you don't succeed

The Queen's Hearts

The Queen's Hearts silhouette in black and white.

The Queen's Hearts

 

That same Queen of Hearts, who baked all those tarts
That we've heard of in story and fable
Sent word once a year, that both peasant and peer
Should collect all the hearts they were able
And some hearts were great, and some hearts were small
And some had hardly a heart at all.

The Queen's Hearts silhouette in red and white.