You can almost hear the rain on the window, reading this poem. Can you smell the mixture of fresh rain and dirt? Can you picture the three of them snug in front of the fireplace? I can!
Drip, drip, drop,
That is the song of the rain:
When will it ever stop,
And the sun shine upon us again?
Patter, pitter, patter,
Falling on roof and gutter,
While the wind with a terrible clatter
Is shaking the window-shutter.
Spick, speck, span,
All in their brightest and best,
To visit their Cousin Ann,
Katie and Harry were drest.
Pour, pour, pour,
The pitiless rain came tumbling;
Roar, roar, roar,
The gusty wind went rumbling.
Sad at the window sat
The poor little boy and girl:
“It will spoil my new black hat; “
“It will put all my hair out of curl. “
“Still we should like to go
Out if you will allow us, mamma. “
Mamma says, “It cannot be so:
You must stop here with me and papa. “
“Only think, only think, of the rain
Spoiling our happiest day!
Don’t set us to lessons again,
But tell us a story, we pray. “
Kate sat on my knee like a child,
And Harry reclined on the rug:
Without it was stormy and wild;
Within we were merry and snug.
Here is another that refers to the picture. It’s a cute little story involving birdies!
Mary and the Birds
A little gray bird was hopping around the door, and kept saying, “Chirp, chirp.” I suppose he said this because he was hungry. So Mary put out some crumbs upon a board, and then went away.
The little bird looked at Mary, and then flew down. I suppose he wanted to say, “May I have these crumbs?” He picked up a few crumbs, and then flew off. When he flew off, he had a large crumb in his bill, as you see in the picture. What did he do with the crumb? He gave it to a young bird, that was just learning to fly. If you look at the picture, you will see the young bird down in the grass. It cannot fly much yet, and so the old bird brings it crumbs. Do you not see how he puts the crumbs down into the little bird’s throat?
Pretty soon, this little birdie thought he was old enough to fly. So he spread out his wings, and gave a jump, and away he went. He flew up to a twig of a tree. Then his mother was so proud of him, that she brought him a nice large crumb. Here you can see him on the twig.
W. O. G.
“There is nothing like trying and daring to do:
You see that by trying the little bird flew.
Though we, little friend, have no feathers for flying,
We may soon learn to read if we only keep trying. “
I love that last little rhyme. It gives a nice point of view from the little one’s perspective.
Do you remember learning to read? Tell us about it in the comments!