Classic Poem

Three children (their names were so fearful
You'll excuse me for leaving them out)
Sat silent, with faces all tearful —
What was it about?

They were sewing, but needles are prickly,
And fingers were cold as could be —
So they didn't get on very quickly,
And they wept, silly Three!

" O Mother! " said they, " Guildford's not a
Nice place for the winter, that's flat.
If you know any country that's hotter,
Please take us to that! "

" Cease crying, " said she, " little daughter!
And when summer comes back with the flowers,
You shall roam by the edge of the water,
In sunshiny hours. "

" And in summer, " said sorrowful Mary,
" We shall hear the shrill scream of the train
That will bring that dear writer of fairy-
tales hither again. "

(Now the person she meant to allude to
Was — well! it is best to forget.
It was some one she always was rude to,
Whenever they met.)

" It's my duty, " their Mother continued,
" To fill with things useful and right
Your small minds: if I put nothing in, you'd
Be ignorant quite.

" But enough now of lessons and thinking:
Your meal is quite ready, I see —
So attend to your eating and drinking,
You thirsty young Three! "