THE PINEWOOD PEOPLE
When winds are noisy-winged and high,
And crystal-clear the day,
Down where the forest meets the sky
The Pinewood People play.
Far off I see them bow, advance,
Swing partners and retreat,
As though some slow, old-fashioned dance
Had claimed their tripping feet.
Or hand to hand they wave, and so,
With dip and bend and swing,
Through "tag" and "hide" and "touch and go"
They flutter, frolicking.
But when I run to join the play,
I find my search is vain.
Always they see me on the way,
And change to pines again.
ELIZABETH THORNTON TURNER.
THE STUDENTS
I say to Tommy every day,
"Now let us read awhile,"
But Tommy doesn't like to read,
He'd rather be a prancing steed,
And have me drive him many a mile,
And often run away.
I like to do as grown folks do.
Our house is full of books.
My sisters gather every night
About the cheery study light.
I often think how wise it looks,
And wish I could stay, too.