If you your lips would keep from slips, ... (by William Edward Norris)

If you your lips would keep from slips,

Five things observe with care:

Of whom you speak, to whom you speak,

And how and when and where.

If you your ears would save from jeers,

These things keep meekly hid:

Myself and I, and mine and my,

And how I do and did.

Six Serving Men (by Rudyard Kipling)

I Keep six honest serving-men:

(They taught me all I knew)

Their names are What and Where and When

And How and Why and Who

I send them over land and sea,

I send them east and west;

But after they have worked for me,

I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five.

For I am busy then,

As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,

For they are hungry men:

But different folk have different views:

I know a person small -  

She keeps ten million serving-men,

Who get no rest at all!

She sends them abroad on her own affairs,

From the second she opens her eyes -

One million Hows, two million Wheres,

And seven million Whys!

Don’t You Love to Lie and Listen (by Clinton Scollard)

Don’t you love to lie and listen, 

Listen to the rain. 

With its little patter, patter, 

And its tiny clatter, clatter, 

And its silvery spatter, spatter, 

On the roof and on the pane! 

Yes, I love to lie and listen, 

Listen to the rain. 

It’s fairies —Pert anu Plucky, 

Nip and Nimbletoes and Lucky, 

Trip and Trimblenose and Tucky

On the roof and on the pane! 

That’s my dream the while I listen, 

Listen to the rain. 

I can see them running races, 

I can watch their laughing faces 

At their gleeful games and graces, 

On the roof and on the pane! 

I Love to See the Fire (By G. F. Horne)

I love to see the fire so red,

It turns to toast my slice of bread.

I love to go to bed at night

And sleep until the morning light.

I love the moon, it shines on me, 

And stars are twinkle merrily.

I love the winter frost and snow, 

I’m dressed in wool from tip to toe.

Rain (By Shel Silverstein)

I opened my eyes

And looked up at the rain, 

And it dripped in my head 

And flowed into my brain.

“So pardon this wild crazy thing”,

I just said “I’m just not the same 

since there’s rain

in my head.”

I step very softly,

I walk very slow, 

I can’t do a hand-stand 

Or I might overflow.

And all I can hear 

As I lie in my bed 

Is the slishity-slosh 

Of the rain in my head.

In March (By Leonard Clark)

At winter’s end when hungry foxes sleep 

A few uneasy hours in earthy dens, 

And shivering hares squat in their forms, and sheep

At lambing time bed down in farmyard pens; 

Then stiff with cold in secret garden holes 

Thin dormice lie, curled up with drowsy moles.

Before the frosty darkness falls outside, 

There flit on faintly coloured wing a pair 

Of chaffinches who on the branches hide, 

For they have found a quiet lodging where 

They, too, can settle down this night and rest, 

And in the morning start to build their nest.

And in the farmhouse now our yawning cat, 

After a busy day begins to tire, 

And lies there warm and sleek and fat. 

Stretched out beside the blazing kitchen fire; 

Dreaming and purring she is well away, 

It is the ending of a chill March day.

So wild and tame have skies above their heads 

Where all the stars of early springtime shine. 

They go contented to their peaceful beds. 

And I am full of sleep and go to mine.

The Sea at Night (By Sujata Bhatt)

The sea at night, all black

yet distinguishable from the day,

all black.

Close above the sea: a vertical sickle

a flame yellow waxing moon —

and right above the moon;

a chrysanthemum yellow star,

the evening star.

All in a straight line —

so we wondered if this happens

every night or once a century,

we wondered while

the sea swayed, the sky shifted

the moon turned, the star slipped.

And there was no time

for a photograph —

no time, so we watched,

sleepless through the night

unable to lie still

unable to stop talking...

Grasshopper Green (by Nancy Dingman Watson)

Grasshopper green is a comical chap;
He lives on the best of fare.
Bright little trousers, jacket, and cap,
These are his summer wear.

Out in the meadows he loves to go,
Playing away in the sun;
It's hopperty, skipperty, high and low,
Summer's the time for fun.

*
Grasshopper green has a quaint little house;
It's under the hedge so gay.
Grandmother Spider, as still as a mouse,
Watches him over the way.

Gladly he's calling the children,
I know, Out in the beautiful sun;
It's hopperty, skipperty, high and low,
Summer's the time for fun

The Spare Room (By Diana Hendry)

It was just the spare room,

the nobody-there room,

the spooks-in-the-air room,

the unbearable spare room.

It wasn't the guest room,

the four-poster best room,

the designed-to-impress room,

the unusable guest room.

It wasn't the main room, 

the homely and plain room, 

the flop-on-the-bed room, 

Mum and Dad's own room.

It wasn't the blue room, 

the sweet lulla-loo room, 

the creep-on-your-feet room 

the baby's asleep room.

It wasn't the bright room, 

the clothes-everywhere room, 

the music-all-night room, 

sister's scattered-about room.

It was just the spare room, 

the nobody-there room, 

the spooks-in-the-air room, 

the unbearable spare room.