Oliver Herford Poems

The Puppy cannot mew or talk,
He has a funny kind of walk,
His tail is difficult to wag
And that’s what makes him walk zigzag.
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MY child, the Duck-billed Platypus
A sad example sets for us:
From him we learn how Indecision
Of character provokes Derision.
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I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.
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Under a toadstool crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain to shelter himself.

Under the toadstool, sound asleep,
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CHILDREN, behold the Chimpanzee:
He sits on the ancestral tree
From which we sprang in ages gone.
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IF this little world to-night
Suddenly should fall through space
In a hissing, headlong flight,
Shrivelling from off its face,
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The Gentle Milk Jug blue and white
I love with all my soul,
She pours herself with all her might
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ALAS, my Child, where is the Pen
That can do Justice to the Hen?
Like Royalty, She goes her way,
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The Moon is like a big round cheese
That shines above the garden trees,
And like a cheese grows less each night,
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THE Pen-guin sits up-on the shore
And loves the lit-tle fish to bore;
He has one en-er-vat-ing joke
That would a very Saint provoke:
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