The Quarrel

I quarrelled with my brother
I don't know what about,
One thing led to another
And somehow we fell out
The start of it was slight,
The end of it was strong,
He said he was right,
I knew he was wrong!

We hated one another.
The afternoon turned black.
Then suddenly my brother
Thumped me on the back,
And said, 'Oh, come along!
We can't go on all night-
I was in the wrong.'
So he was in the right.

--Eleanor Farjeon

Questions

Do trains get tired of running
And woodworms bored with holes
Are tunnels tired of darkness
And stones of being so old?

Do shadows tire of sunshine
Do tellys tire of fame
And footballs tire of kicking
And puddles tire of rain?

Does water tire of spilling
And fires of being too hot
And smells get tired of smelling
And chickenpox of spots?

I do not know the answers,
I'll ask them all one day...
But I get tired of working,
BUT NEVER TIRED OF PLAY.

--Peter Dixon

Quieter than Snow

I went to school a day too soon
And couldn't understand
Why silence hung in the yard like sheets
Nothing to flap or spin, no creaks
Or shocks of voices, only air.

And the car-park empty of teachers' cars
Only the first September leaves
Dropping like paper. No racks of bikes
No kicking legs, no fights,
No voices, laughter, anything.

Yet the door was open. My feet
Sucked down the corridor. My reflection
Walked with me past the hall.
My classroom smelt of nothing. And the silence
Rolled like thunder in my ears.

At every desk a still child stared at me
Teachers walked through walls and back again
Cupboard doors swung open, and out crept
More silent children, and still more.

They tiptoed round me
Touched me with ice-cold hands
And opened up their mouths with laughter
That was

Quieter than snow.

--Berlie Doherty