I'm very glad I'm useful, though my speech is always dark,
But every time they handle me I always make my mark!
But sorrow seems to follow me in spite of many a friend,
For when I'm meditating I am bitten at the end.
I am a little pencil, and my name is H and B,
I lie upon the mantelpiece for every one to see;
I'm getting shorter every day, and every day I'm older,
And when my last few hours have come they'll put me in a holder!
New Year
The Old Year sat in his armchair warm,
And his eyes were fixed on the floor,
When suddenly out of the winter storm
Came a little tap-tap at the door.
The wind went tearing around and about
All with a terrible din;
The blind blew in as the lamp blew out,
And the little New Year walked in.
He lit the lamp and he closed the door
As the Old Year slipped away,
Then he opened his treasure upon the floor
And took out another day!
Brother Francis
He walks the streets of London Town,
A little Brother dressed in brown.
Up Ludgate Hill he goes and calls
The pigeons flying round St Paul's.
He walks across Trafalgar Square,
Because he knows the pigeons there.