Leendert Snelleman: “Lent.”
In Lent it is always nice,
My brother’s birth-day is in May,
He says his feet need warming,
So that Lent we must be praising,
And then we’re going to celebrate,
Easter brings eggs and a holiday.
“It’s too bad that he’s so careless with his rhymes. His imagination is extraordinary. Very original.”
Keesje, the Butcher’s Boy: “In Praise of the Teacher.”
My father has slaughtered many a steer,
But Master Pennewip is still living, I hear;
Some are lean, and some are well-fed,
He has slipped his wig to the side of his head.
The wig actually went to the side of his head.
“Well, this is curious. I hardly know what to say about it.”
The wig slipped to the other side.
“What’s the connection between me and steers?”
The wig protested vigorously against any implication of relationship with steers.
“H—mm! Can it be that this is what our new-fangled writers call humour?”
The wig sank down to his eyebrows, which signified doubt.
“I will call up the boy and——”
The wig passed again to the zenith, to express its satisfaction with the teacher’s determination to interview the butcher’s boy.