Poem of the Day

My favorite color is green (obviously), but I though this poem was cute anyway.

Red
By Eugene Field

Any color, so long as it’s red,
   Is the color that suits me best,
Though I will allow there is much to be said
   For yellow and green and the rest;
But the feeble tints which some affect
   In the things they make or buy
Have never—I say it with all respect—
   Appealed to my critical eye.

Current Tea: spicy chai (apparently the spicy components are proprietary)

Yes, I’m still in KC, so one more children’s poem.

The Dinkey-Bird
By Eugene Field

In an ocean, ‘way out yonder,
   (As all sapient people know)
Is the land of Wonder-Wander,
   Whither children love to go;
It’s their playing, romping, swinging,
   That give great joy to me
While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing
   In the amfalula tree!

There the gum-drops grow like cherries,
   And taffy’s thick as peas—
Caramels you pick like berries
   When, and where, and how you please;
Big red sugar-plums are clinging
   To the cliffs beside that sea
Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
   In the amfalula tree!

So when children shout and scamper
   And make merry all the day,
When there’s naught to put a damper
   To the ardor of their play;
When I hear their laughter ringing,
   Then I’m sure as sure can be
That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
   In the amfalula tree!

For the Dinkey-Bird’s bravuras
   And staccatos are so sweet—
His roulades, appoggiaturas,
   And robustos so complete,
That the youth of every nation—
   Be they near or far away—
Have especial delectation
   In that gladsome roundelay.

Their eyes grow bright and brighter,
   Their lungs begin to crow,
Their hearts get light and lighter,
   And their cheeks are all aglow;
For an echo cometh bringing
   The news to all and me,
That the Dinkey-Bird is singing
   In the amfalula tree.

I’m sure you like to go there
   To see your feathered friend—
And so many goodies grow there
   You would like to comprehend!
Speed, little dreams, your winging
   To that land across the sea
Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing
   In the amfalula tree!

Here’s another from my cache of poems I saved to post while in KC, in honor of my darling Killian.

Little Boy Blue
By Eugene Field

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
   But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
   And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
   And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
   Kissed them and put them there.

“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
   ”And don’t you make any noise!”
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
   He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
   Awakened our Little Boy Blue—
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
   But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
   Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
   The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
   In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
   Since he kissed them and put them there.

My mother used to read this to me when I was a little girl (we had a beautifully illustrated book). It seems to go with my theme of sleeping, or not.

Wynken, Blynken and Nod
By Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
  Sailed off in a wooden shoe—
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
  Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
  The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring fish
  That live in this beautiful sea;
  Nets of silver and gold have we!”
        Said Wynken,
        Blynken,
        And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
  As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
  Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
  That lived in that beautiful sea—
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish—
  Never afeard are we”;
  So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
        Said Wynken,
        Blynken,
        And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
  To the stars in the twinkling foam—
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
  Bringing the fishermen home;
‘Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
  As if it could not be,
And some folks thought ‘t was a dream they ‘d dreamed
  Of sailing that beautiful sea—
  But I shall name you the fishermen three:
        Said Wynken,
        Blynken,
        And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
  And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
  Is a wee one’s trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
  Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
&nbsp  As you rock in the misty sea,
  Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
        Said Wynken,
        Blynken,
        And Nod.

I have always loved this poem. Since I’m feeling happy, I thought I’d post a poem that reminded me of my carefree childhood!

The Duel
By Eugene Field

The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
‘Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t’ other had slept a wink!
      The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
      Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
            (I wasn’t there; I simply state
            What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)

The gingham dog went “Bow-wow-wow!”
And the calico cat replied “Mee-ow!”
The air was littered, an hour or so,
With bits of gingham and calico,
      While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place
      Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
            (Now mind: I ‘m only telling you
            What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)

The Chinese plate looked very blue,
And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do!”
But the gingham dog and the calico cat
Wallowed this way and tumbled that,
      Employing every tooth and claw
      In the awfullest way you ever saw—
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
            (Don’t fancy I exaggerate—
            I got my news from the Chinese plate!)

Next morning, where the two had sat
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away!
      But the truth about the cat and pup
      Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
            (The old Dutch clock it told me so,
            And that is how I came to know.)