WHAT'S UP?
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Why does Miss Prim; So stylish and slim, Hold up her head so high? What does she see? A bird in the tree? Or is it a star in the sky? | |
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And here is young Jane In bonnet so plain: And why is she looking up too? Do they seek at high noon For the man in the moon? Now, really, I wish that I knew? V. W. |
MINDING MOTHER.
"Orook, orook, orook!"
It is the half-grown turkeys going,
In the hot sunshine, through the fields;
Their black feet trampling down the mowing.
Across the clover rosy red,
Through the tall brake-leaves in the hollow,
The old hen-turkey, calling, goes;
And close behind the others follow.
"Old birds know best," the young ones say,
"And we let mother choose the way."
The dancing oats, all tasselled green,
Are full of grasshoppers and crickets;
The raspberry-bushes, red with fruit,
Grow round the rocks in thorny thickets;
The partridge-plants beside the wall
Lift up their clustered purple berries;
And from the wind-stirred branches fall
Upon the grass the small wild cherries:
Just where they are the old hen knows,
And all her noisy brood she shows.
Why feast all day?—the trodden oats
Will scarce be worth the mowing;—
"'Tis time," the old bird says, "at last
We home again were going."
Back through the clover-bloom she strides,
Down through the braky hollow:
She flies up on the fence to roost,
And all the others follow.
"We always have," the young ones say,
"When mother leads, a pleasant day."
MARIAN DOUGLAS.
