Page Two


Whenever I take Scooter out
to get some air and walk about
so many people stare at me
and Scooter— he's my dog, you see.

Well Scooter, he is very long,
so people think there's something wrong—
that Scooter really shouldn't be
as long as that, walking with me.

They say he's like a sausage link,
a hot dog in a bun, they think—
and Scooter doesn't try to hide
his ears that spread a mile wide.

They say he's like a limousine,
who's doors stand open, and between
his floppy ears, he has a nose
that's pointed, just above his toes.

But, though is legs are short and squat,
I like him, and do you know what?
My Scooter never seems to care
that people always stop and stare.

A finer dog there couldn't be.
We're perfect friends, Scooter and me.

Madeline Moore

Madeline Moore, who just turned four,
says that four is much better than three.
Madeline Moore (though I'm not keeping score),
is still two years younger than me.

Madeline said that she'll not go to bed
one minute sooner than eight.
I said that bed should be seven instead
and that started off a debate.

Madeline Moore said, now that she's four,
eight o'clock is what it should be.
I told her eight is really quite late
for someone not much more than three.

Madeline Moore kicked and screamed on the floor,
and hollered out loud to high heaven.
Her mother then said that she must go to bed,
as early as quarter to seven.

Now Madeline knows just how bed time goes
when she hollers and screams and kicks-
and it's only right she went early that night,
for she's still two years younger than six.

Madeline Moore, who just turned four
goes to bed at seven fifteen-
unless, like before, she screams on the floor
and causes a horrible scene.

I go at eight, which isn't too late
for someone who's three plus three.
She's only four (and I'll never keep score),
but that's still two years younger than me.

The Tree People

If you walk in the forest
deeper than you should,
proceed with caution!
(at least, I would!)—
for there in the deep
of the forest green
live the strangest people
you've ever seen.

They live up high
in the forest trees,
their homes are built
in the branches of these—
and if they touch
the forest floor,
the tree people
will be no more.

Ages ago,
a wizard passed by,
before the tree people
lived up so high.
He cast on them
a wicked spell,
and still today
this tale they tell,
up in the leafy
boughs of green,
with bridges stretching
in between.


The wizard cried,
"You now shall be
forever people of the tree!—
and if you touch the ground once more,
you'll sink into the forest floor!"

And ever since that fateful day,
the tree people have had to stay
within the tall trees, off the ground,
where leaves and branches spread around
each tiny house and bridge across,
which glow with green, covered in moss.

If you should find
the people there,
who live in trees,
don't stop and stare—
just walk away
and leave them be
(at least I would,
if it were me).


May I introduce myself,
I'm simply known as 'beebee'.
I once was a whole blanket,
but now I'm just a dweebee.
A jumbled square of yellow softness
in a child's hands.
She holds me, hugs me, squeezes me
when no one understands.

I have a little fussel,
which means a strand of satin,
hanging from the corner
where the edge is torn and tattin.
It's soft and oh-so-comforting
to rub upon the chin,
at night when she is tired,
even though I'm wearing thin.

I keep her safe in darkness,
snuggling close till light of day.
I'll be her friend till she's all grown,
and puts this rag away.

Elephant Shower

An elephant has the biggest feet,
the hugest ears, the longest trunk—
and on a day that's dry and hot,
he'll find a pool and take a dunk!
He'll stand in water, ankle deep,
swookle it up inside his nose.
He'll raise it high over his head,
and use it as a cooling hose!

It would be so much easier
if I could have an elephant's snout
to take my shower, then and there,
when I'm at play, out and about.
I wouldn't have to go inside
and bother getting all undressed—
I'd lift my trunk and spray away,
and just forget about the rest!

© All PoemsCopyright Katharine L. Sparrow 2020, 2021