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Todays Heros Colin Powell

The document is about 'Today's Heroes: Colin Powell,' a book available for download in various formats like PDF and EPUB. It includes a brief description and links to access the book on alibris.com. The content also features poetry and stories, showcasing themes of childhood and imagination.

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57 views31 pages

Todays Heros Colin Powell

The document is about 'Today's Heroes: Colin Powell,' a book available for download in various formats like PDF and EPUB. It includes a brief description and links to access the book on alibris.com. The content also features poetry and stories, showcasing themes of childhood and imagination.

Uploaded by

toshimihira5426
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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Todays Heros Colin Powell

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Todays Heros Colin Powell

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Short description: GOOD Paperback-9780310702993 HOMESCHOOLING [LEW
SHAW LEWIS] TODAY'S HERO'S COLIN POWELL.

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Todays Heros Colin Powell

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.
Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: “My son,

Right well have you wrought with your little red gun!
Hereafter no evil at all need I fear,
With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!”
She kissed the dear boy.
[The bird in the tree
Continued to whistle his “Fiddle-dee-dee”!]
H AVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?
’Tis a marvel of great renown!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;

The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet


(As those who have tasted it say)

That good little children have only to eat


Of that fruit to be happy next day.
When you’ve got to the tree, you would have a hard time
To capture the fruit which I sing;
The tree is so tall that no person could climb
To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!
But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,
And a gingerbread dog prowls below—
And this is the way you contrive to get at
Those sugar-plums tempting you so:

You say but the word to that gingerbread dog


And he barks with such terrible zest
That the chocolate cat is at once all agog,
As her swelling proportions attest.
And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around
From this leafy limb unto that,
And the sugar-plums tumble of course to the ground—
And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground
Hurrah for that chocolate cat!

There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,


With stripings of scarlet or gold,
And you carry away of the treasure that rains
As much as your apron can hold!

“AS MUCH AS YOUR APRON CAN HOLD!”

So come, little child, cuddle closer to me


In your dainty white nightcap and gown,
And I’ll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
K RINKEN was a little child,—
It was summer when he smiled,
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him;
Calling, “Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!”
But the child heard not the sea.

Krinken on the beach one day


Saw a maiden Nis at play;
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.
“Krinken,” said the maiden Nis,
“Let me have a little kiss,—
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer-lands that be
Down within the silver sea.”

Krinken was a little child,


By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Down into the calling sea
With the maiden Nis went he.

But the sea calls out no more,


It is winter on the shore,—
Winter where that little child
Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though ’tis summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,—
Summer, summer evermore,—
It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.

Of the summer on the deep


Come sweet visions in my sleep;
His fair face lifts from the sea,
His dear voice calls out to me,—
Th d f b
These my dreams of summer be.

Krinken was a little child,


By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, “Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!”
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,—
Winter, cold and dark and wild;
Krinken was a little child,—
It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.
A LL day long they come and go—
Pittypat and Tippytoe;
Footprints up and down the hall,
Playthings scattered on the floor,
Finger-marks along the wall,
Tell-tale smudges on the door—
By these presents you shall know
Pittypat and Tippytoe.

How they riot at their play!


And a dozen times a day
In they troop, demanding bread—
Only buttered bread will do,
And the butter must be spread
Inches thick with sugar too!
And I never can say “No,
Pittypat and Tippytoe!”

Sometimes there are griefs to soothe,


Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth;
For (I much regret to say)
Tippytoe and Pittypat
Sometimes interrupt their play
With an internecine spat;
Fie, for shame! to quarrel so—
Pittypat and Tippytoe!

Oh the thousand worrying things


Every day recurrent brings!
Hands to scrub and hair to brush,
Search for playthings gone amiss,
Many a wee complaint to hush,
Many a little bump to kiss;
Life seems one vain, fleeting show
To Pittypat and Tippytoe!

And when day is at an end,


There are little duds to mend:
Little frocks are strangely torn,
Little shoes great holes reveal,
Little hose, but one day worn,
R d l d h l!
Rudely yawn at toe and heel!
Who but you could work such woe,
Pittypat and Tippytoe!

On the floor and down the hall,


Rudely smutched upon the wall,
There are proofs in every kind
Of the havoc they have wrought,
And upon my heart you’d find
Just such trade-marks, if you sought;
Oh, how glad I am ’tis so,
Pittypat and Tippytoe!
S LEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings—
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging—
Swinging the nest where her little one lies.

Away out yonder I see a star—


Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling—
Calling and tinkling the night along.

In through the window a moonbeam comes—


Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks: “Is he sleeping—
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?”

Up from the sea there floats the sob


Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore,
As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning—
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.

But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings—


Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;
Am I not singing?—see, I am swinging—
Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
E VERY evening, after tea,
Teeny-Weeny comes to me.
And, astride my willing knee,
Plies his lash and rides away;
Though that palfrey, all too spare,
Finds his burden hard to bear,
Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care;
He commands, and I obey!

First it’s trot, and gallop then;


Now it’s back to trot again;
Teeny-Weeny likes it when
He is riding fierce and fast.
Then his dark eyes brighter grow
And his cheeks are all aglow:
“More!” he cries, and never “Whoa!”
Till the horse breaks down at last.

Oh, the strange and lovely sights


Teeny-Weeny sees of nights,
As he makes those famous flights
On that wondrous horse of his!
Oftentimes before he knows,
Wearylike his eyelids close,
And, still smiling, off he goes
Where the land of By-low is.
There he sees the folk of fay
Hard at ring-a-rosie play,
And he hears those fairies say:
“Come, let’s chase him to and fro!”
But, with a defiant shout,
Teeny puts that host to rout;
Of this tale I make no doubt,
Every night he tells it so.

So I feel a tender pride


In my boy who dares to ride
That fierce horse of his astride,
Off into those misty lands;
And as on my breast he lies,
Dreaming in that wondrous wise,
I caress his folded eyes,
Pat his little dimpled hands.

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