Ruth Henry

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The Best Poem Of Ruth Henry

Blanche

A baby owl, whose name was Blanche,
Perched bravely on a narrow branch,
And wondered whether she could try,
To jump off and attempt to fly.
She bravely counted up to ten,
And then she counted ten again.
She jumped!
She found she couldn't fly,
And lay there looking in the sky.
'' It's lucky that the branch, '' said she,
'' Was on the ground and not the tree.''
Then off she ran
And flapped her wings
And said ''These are most awkward things,
For though I skip and jump quite high,
I'm still no nearer to the sky.''
And falling down she gave a howl
And wished she'd never been an owl!
Till finally her mother found her,
And put a great big wing around her,
Then said ''Dear Blanche, don't be upset,
You haven't grown your feathers yet.''

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