Old poems.....

Old poems.....

Postby Josieclick » Sat Sep 02, 2006 12:43 pm

I love the old poems from years gone by

Grandpa Dropped His Glasses


Leroy F. Jackson

Granpa dropped his glasses once
In a pot of dye,
And when he put them on again
He saw a purple sky.
Purple fires were rising up
From a purple hill,
Men were grinding purple cider
at a purple mill.
Purple Adeline was playing
With a purple doll;
Little purple dragon flies
Were crawling up the wall.
And at the supper-table
He got crazy as a loon
From eating purple apple dumplings
With a purple spoon.


Johnny Fife and Johnny's Wife


Mildred Plew Meigs

Oh, Johnny Fife and Johnny's wife
To save their toes and heels,
They built themselves a little house
That ran on rolling wheels.

They hung their parrot at the door
Upon a painted ring,
And round and round the world they went
And never missed a thing;

And when they wished to eat they ate,
And after they had fed,
They crawled beneath a crazy quilt
And gaily went to bed;

And what they cared to keep they kept,
And what they both did not,
They poked beneath a picket fence
And quietly forgot.

Oh, Johnny Fife and Johnny's wife,
They took their brush and comb,
And round and round the world they went
And also stayed at home.


Mr Nobody

I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house!
There's no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody.

'Tis he who always tears our books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pins afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For, prithee, don't you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud,
And all the carpets soiled.
The papers always are mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leave the blinds unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
that lying round you see
Are not our boots -- they all belong
To Mr. Nobody. :magnify:
Josieclick
 

Postby dejavou » Sat Sep 02, 2006 2:38 pm

Iknow Mr Nobody very well :tantrum2:
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