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White Horses

Far out at sea

There are horses to ride

Little white horses

That race with the tide.

 

Their tossing manes

Are the white sea-foam,

And the lashing winds

Are driving them home-

 

To shadowy stables

Fast they must flee,

To the great green caverns

Down under the sea.

 

Irene F Pawsey


Us Two

Wherever I am there’s always Pooh

There’s always Pooh and me.

Whatever I do, he wants to do,

“Where are you going today?” says Pooh:

“Well, that’s very odd ‘cos I was too.

Let’s go together,” says Pooh, says he.

“Let’s go together,” says Pooh.

 

“What’s twice eleven?” I said to Pooh.

(“Twice what?” said Pooh to Me.)

“I think it ought to be twenty-two.”

“Just what I think myself,” said Pooh.

“It wasn’t an easy sum to do,

But that’s what it is,” said Pooh, said he.

“That’s what it is,” said Pooh.

 

“Let’s look for dragons,” I said to Pooh.

“Yes, let’s,” said Pooh to Me.

We crossed the river and found a few-

“Yes, those are dragons all right,” said Pooh.

“As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.

That’s what they are,” said Pooh, said he.

“That’s what they are,” said Pooh.

 

“Let’s frighten the dragons,” I said to Pooh.

“That’s right,” said Pooh to Me.

“I’m not afraid,” I said to Pooh,

And I held his paw and I shouted “Shoo!

Silly old dragons!”- and off they flew.

 

“I wasn’t afraid,” said Pooh, said he,

“I’m never afraid with you.”

 

So wherever I am, there’s always Pooh,

There’s always Pooh and Me.

“What would I do?” I said to Pooh,

“If it wasn’t for you,” and Pooh said: “True,

It isn’t much fun for One, but Two,

Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. “That’s how it is,” says Pooh.


Eight Tentacles

If only I had an octopus
I’d soon get my housework done.
I’d set him to work on the hoovering
With tentacle number one.
Tentacle two would grab a mop
And start on the kitchen floor
While he dusted and polished the furniture
With tentacles three and four.
Tentacle five would turn on the tap
And tackle the washing up
While tentacle six took a well-earned break
And curled round a china cup.
Tentacle seven would make the beds
And set all the pillows straight,
And all the time he’d be balancing
On tentacle number eight

Julia Donaldson


Mr Moore

Mr. Moore Mr. Moore

Creaking down the corridor

Uh eh uh uh eh

Uh eh uh uh eh

Mr. Moore wears wooden suits

Mr Moore wears great big boots

Mr. Moore’s got hair like a brush

And Mr. Moore don’t like me much.

Chorus

When my teacher’s there I haven’t got a care

I do my sums I do gerzinters

When Mr. Moore comes through the door

Got a wooden head full of splinters.

Chorus

Mr. Moore I implore

My earholes ache my head is sore

Don’t come through the classroom door

Oh don’t come through the classroom door

Mister Mister Mister Moore.

Chorus

Mr. Moore wears wooden suits

Mr Moore wears great big boots

Mr. Moore’s got hair like a brush

And Mr. Moore don’t like me much.

Chorus.

David Harmer


There was an old lady…

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly- (Anonymous)

Poor old lady, she swallowed a fly.

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.

Poor old lady, I think she’ll die!

Poor old lady, she swallowed a spider,

It squirmed and wriggled and turned inside her.

She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.

Poor old lady, I think she’ll die!

Poor old lady, she swallowed a bird.

How absurd! She swallowed a bird.

She swallowed the bird to catch the spider.

She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.

Poor old lady, I think she’ll die!

Poor old lady, she swallowed a cat.

Think of that! She swallowed a cat.

She swallowed the cat to catch the bird.

She swallowed the bird to catch the spider.

She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.

Poor old lady, I think she’ll die!

Poor old lady, she swallowed a dog.

She went the whole hog when she swallowed the dog.

She swallowed the dog to catch the cat.

She swallowed the cat to catch the bird.

She swallowed the bird to catch the spider.

She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.

Poor old lady, I think she’ll die!

Poor old lady, she swallowed a cow.

I don’t know how she swallowed a cow.

She swallowed the cow to catch the dog.

She swallowed the dog to catch the cat.

She swallowed the cat to catch the bird.

She swallowed the bird to catch the spider.

She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.

I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.

Poor old lady, I think she’ll die!

Poor old lady, she swallowed a horse.

She died, of course.


The Sound Collector

A stranger called this morning
Dressed all in black and grey
Put every sound into a bag
And carried them away

The whistling of the kettle
The turning of the lock
The purring of the kitten
The ticking of the clock

The popping of the toaster
The crunching of the flakes
When you spread the marmalade
The scraping noise it makes

The hissing of the frying pan
The ticking of the grill
The bubbling of the bathtub
As it starts to fill

The drumming of the raindrops
On the windowpane
When you do the washing-up
The gurgle of the drain

The crying of the baby
The squeaking of the chair
The swishing of the curtain
The creaking of the stair

A stranger called this morning
He didn’t leave his name
Left us only silence
Life will never be the same

Roger McGough