Carolyn Wells Poems
There lived in ancient Scribbletown a wise old writer-man,
Whose name was Homer Cicero Demosthenes McCann.
He'd written treatises and themes till, 'For a change,' he said,
'I think I'll write a children's book before I go to bed.'
He pulled down all his musty tomes in Latin and in Greek;
Consulted cyclopaedias and manuscripts antique,
Essays in Anthropology, studies in counterpoise--
'For these,' he said, 'are useful lore for little girls and boys.'
He scribbled hard, and scribbled fast, he burned the midnight oil,
And when he reached 'The End' he felt ...
A Day Dream
Polly's patchwork--oh, dear me!--
Truly is a sight to see.
Rumpled, crumpled, soiled, and frayed--
Will the quilt be ever made?
See the stitches yawning wide--
Can it be that Polly _tried_?
Some are right and some are wrong,
Some too short and some too long,