Page 60 - Lavender-B-6

Let’s read a poem about the wind.

Said the Wind to the Moon, ‘I will blow you out;

You stare

In the air
Like a ghost in a chair,
Always looking what I am about—

I hate to be watched; I’ll blow you out.’

The Wind blew hard, and out went
the Moon.

So, deep
On a heap

Of clouds to sleep,
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,

Muttering low, ‘I’ve done for that Moon.’

He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high

In the sky,
With her one ghost eye,

The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind, ‘I will blow you out again.’

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.

‘With my sledge,

And my wedge,
I have knocked off her edge!

If only I blow right fierce and grim,

The creature will soon be dimmer than dim.’

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.

‘One puff
More’s enough

To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred, slumbered: slept
snuff: to put out a
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread.’ flame

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