ZODIAC TOWN
Amos and Ann had a poem to learn,
A poem to learn one day;
But alas! they sighed, and alack! they cried,
’Twere better to go and play.
Ann was sure ’twas a waste of time
To bother a child with jingling rhyme.
Amos said, “What’s the sense in rhythm—
Feet and lines?” He had finished with ’em!
They peered at the poem with scowly faces,
And yawned and stumbled and lost their places.
Then—a breeze romped by, and a bluebird sang,
And they shut the book with a snap and a bang;
Shut the book and were off and away,
Away on flying feet;—
Never did squirrels move more light,
Or rabbits run more fleet!
Over a wall and down a lane
And through a field they ran;
And “Where shall we go?” said Amos. “Oh,
And where shall we stop?” cried Ann.
Then all at once, round the curve of a hill,
They pulled up panting and stood stock-still;
For there, by the edge of a ripplety brook,
In a deep little, steep little place,
Sat a long-legged youth, with a staff and a book
And a quaint, very quizzical face.
His cap and his trousers were dusty green
And his jacket was rusty brown,
And he whittled away on sweet white wood,
With shavings showering down.
He whittled away ’twixt a laugh and a tune,
With fingers as light as thistles.
“And what are you making?” asked Amos and Ann.
He said, “I am making whistles.”
He finished one with a notch and a slit,
And threw back his head and blew on it.
The whistle sang like a bird when he blew,
Then he twinkled and put it down.
“And where are you going,” he said, “you two?
Are you going to Zodiac Town?”
Each of them shook a doubtful head
(For truly they didn’t know).
“But make us a whistle like yours,” they said,
“And anywhere we will go!”
“I’ll make you a whistle apiece,” quoth he,
“And if you like, you may follow me;
Zodiac Town’s in the land of Time,
And I go by the road of Rhyme.”