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| Poems |  |
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| Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four and twenty blackbird Baked in a pie! When the pie was opened The bird began to sing; Was not that a dainty dish To set before the king? The king was in his counting-house Counting out his money; The queen was in the parlour, Eating bread and honey. The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes; When down came a blackbird And snapped off her nose. |
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| A CALENDER January brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow. February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again. March brings the breezes, loud and shrill, To stir the dancing daffodil April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daisies at our feet. May brings flocks if pretty lambs, Skipping by their fleecy dams. June brings the tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children's hands with posies. Hot July brings the cooling showers, Apricots and gillyflowers. August brings the sheaves of corn, Then the harvest home is borne. Warm September brings the fruit; Sportsmen then begin to shoot. Fresh October brings the pheasant; Then to gather nuts is pleasant. Dull November brings the blast; Then the leaves are whirling fast. Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire, and a Christmas treat. |
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