Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
(This is only part of the poem by
Ogden Nash.)
2 comments:
I love your poem. May I post here one of my favorites (properly edited for parents of boys or girls). Its a little long, but well worth the time it takes to read, especially if you read each phrase and think about it.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don't deal in lies, or being hated, don't give way to hating, and yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, and lose, and start again at your beginnings
and never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run --
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, and -- which is more -- you'll be [a grownup, my child!]
By RUDYARD KIPLING
1865-1936
Uncle Dave
i remember that poem! did we memorize it ages ago i think?
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