Chapters (133)

Protect all folk who quack

and everyone who knows how to swim.

Amen.

Carmen Bernos de Gasztold

translated by Rumer Godden

I Saw a Ship a-Sailing

I saw a ship a-sailing

A-sailing on the sea

And oh but it was laden

With lovely things for me

There were chocolates in the cabin

And ice cream in the hold

The sails were made of candyfloss

And the masts were all of gold

The four-and-twenty sailors,

That stood between the decks

Were four-and-twenty white mice

With ribbons round their necks

The captain was a duck

With a parrot on his back

And when the mice were naughty

The captain said Quack! Quack!

Anon.

Penelope’s Hats

Aunt Penelope really doesn’t like hats

she wears cushions up there instead

She says they are warm in the winter

and soft if she falls on her head.

But cushions and pillows are no good

to wear on your head in the rain.

Like sponges they fill up with water

and for hours they drip as they drain.

So Penelope wears, when it’s raining,

a duck (one leg tied to each ear).

It’s waterproof, and uncomplaining,

she says, except when given to fear.

In thunderstorms, when all the lightning

flashes and crashes all night,

the poor duck will quack in a frenzy

and flap wings with all of its might.

And sometimes, if Penny is running,

the flapping’s enough to take flight,

and the duck and the aunt will go soaring

up into the sky out of sight.

A. F. Harrold

The Look

The heron’s the look of the river.

The moon’s the look of the night.

The sky’s the look of forever.

Snow is the look of white.

The bees are the look of the honey.

The wasp is the look of pain.

The clown is the look of funny.

Puddles are the look of rain.

The whale is the look of the ocean.

The grave is the look of the dead.

The wheel is the look of motion.

Blood is the look of red.

The rose is the look of the garden.

The girl is the look of the school.

The snake is the look of the Gorgon.

Ice is the look of cool.

The clouds are the look of the weather.

The hand is the look of the glove.

The bird is the look of the feather.

You are the look of love.

Carol Ann Duffy

Snakestanger

An old dialect rhyme about the blood-sucking dragonfly said to sting only boys who were naughty.

Snakestanger, snakestanger, flee aal about the brooks,

Sting ahl the bad bwoys a-slingin their vish hooks;

But let the good bwoys katch aal the vish they can,

And carri ’em away wome to vry ’em in a pan;

Bread and butter they shall yeat at zupper wi’ their vish

While aal the littul bad bwoys shall only lick the dish.

Anon.