Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Yarnarian brings you the annual spring poem.

High up, over the tops
Of the feathery grasses, the grasshoppers hop.
They won't eat their suppers,
They will not obey
Their grasshopper mothers and fathers who say:
"Listen my children, this must be stopped.
Now is the time your last hop should be hopped.
So come eat your suppers and go to your beds."
But the little grasshoppers just shake their green heads.
"no, no," the naughty ones say.
"All we have time to do now is to play.
If we are hungry we'll nip at a fly,
Or nibble a blueberry as we go by.
But not now. Now we must hop.
And no one, but no one can make us stop."

The end

1 comment:

brenda1 said...

What a thrill to find this poem!! I memorized this poem in the first grade and have never forgotten it!
I was only 6 when I loved it, and I am not 68, so that means this has "stuck" for 62 years with such a joyful connotation.

Wow. I stand amazed.


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