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Seligor's Castle, where there is so much fun for all of our children in the land.
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Mon, 16 Nov 2009
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 From the Country Tale to a Shaggy Dog Tail, I had forgotten this one. Old Mother Hubbard |
Old Mother
Hubbard 
Old Mother
Hubbard went to the cupboard
To get her poor doggie a
bone,
But when she got there, the
cupboard was bare,
And the poor little doggie had none.
She went
to the baker's to buy him some bread,
But when she came back, the poor doggie was
dead.
She went to the joiner's, to buy him a
coffin,
But when she came back, the poor doggie was
laughin'.
She took a clean dish, to get him
some tripe,
But when she came back, he was
smoking a pipe.
She went to the alehouse, to get him some
beer,
But when she came back, he was sat in her
chair.
She went to the tavern, for
wine white and red,
But when she came back, doggie
stood
on his head.
She went to the hatter's, to buy him a hat,
But when she came back, he was feeding the
cat.
She went to the barber's, to buy him a
wig,
But when she came back, he was dancing a
jig.
She went to the fruiterer's, to buy him
some fruit,
But when she came back , he was playing the
flute.
She went to the
tailor's to buy him a coat,
But when she came back he was riding a
goat.
She went to the
cobbler's to buy him some shoes,
But when she came back
he was reading the news.
She went to the seamstress to buy
him some linen,
But when she came back the doggie was
spinning.
She went to the hosier's, to buy him some
hose,
But when she came back he was dressed in
his clothes.
 The dame made a curtsy. The dog
made a bow,
The dame said, "Your servant,"
The dog said,
"Bow-wow."
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Posted 18:44
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Tue, 10 Nov 2009
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| I HAVE JUST DECIDED TO MAKE A NEW VIDEO PLAYLIST, ENJOY |
 THE RAINBOW,
Well if you listen to the
scientists they will tell you that the
rainbow that we see in the sky, is made by tiny
particles of water
trapped in the atmosphere,  which, when the sunlight shines through
them, creates the shape of a bow across the
sky.
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Posted 10:38
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Tue, 03 Nov 2009
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 Here we are, back again. Struwwelpeter, will tell you about. "The Man who went out Shooting |
The
Story of the Man that went out
Shooting
This is the man that shoots the
hares;
This is the coat he always wears:
With game-bag, powder-horn, and
gun
He's going out to have some
fun.
The hare sits snug in leaves
and grass,
And laughs to see the green man
pass,
He finds it hard, without a pair
Of
spectacles, to shoot the
hare.
Now, as the sun grew very
hot,
And he a heavy gun had got,
He lay down
underneath a tree
And went to sleep, as you may see.
And, while he slept like any top,
The little hare came, hop, hop, hop,
Took gun and spectacles, and then
On her hind legs went off
again.
The green man
wakes and sees her
place
The spectacles upon her
face;
And now
she's trying all she can
To shoot the sleepy, green-coat
man.
He cries and screams and runs
away;
The hare runs after him all day
And hears him call out
everywhere:
"Help! Fire! Help! The Hare! The
Hare!"
At last he stumbled at the
well,
Head over ears, and in he fell.
The hare stopped
short, took aim and, hark!
Bang went the gun—she missed her
mark!
The poor man's wife was drinking
up
Her coffee in her coffee-cup;
The gun
shot cup and saucer through;
"Oh dear!" cried she; "what shall I do?"
There lived close by the cottage there
The hare's own child, the little
hare;
And while she stood upon her
toes,
The coffee fell and burned her nose.
"Oh dear!" she cried, with spoon in
hand,
"Such fun I do not
understand."
 Oh dear I don't trim very well do I, oops.
I will have to move my scanner to
an easier
place to work with. It is so-o-o
squint!
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Posted 18:15
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 Not to well tonight so here are a few pictures of Seligor's Crazy family, well a few of them. |
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Posted 16:16
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Fri, 16 Oct 2009
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 North Wind in October by Robert Seymore Bridges. A beautiful poem with wonderful colours. |
NORTH WIND IN
OCTOBER
In the golden glade the
chestnutsare fallen all ;
From the sered boughs
of the oak the acorns fall
:
The beech
scatters her ruddy fire ;
The lime has
stripped to the
cold,
And standeth naked above her yellow
attire
The larch thinneth her spire
To lay
the ways of the wood with cloth of
gold.
Out of
the golden-green and
white
Of the brake the fir trees stand
upright
In the forest of flame, and wave
aloft
To the blue of heaven .their blue-green
tuftings soft
But swiftly in shuddering gloom
the splendours fail,
As the harrying North wind
beareth
A cloud of skirmishing hail
The
grieved woodland to smite :
In a hurricane
through the trees he
teareth,
Taking the boughs and the leaves
rending,
And whistleth to the
descending
Blow of his icy flail.
Gold and
snow he mixeth in spite,
And whirleth afar
: as away on his winnowing flight
He
passeth, and all again for awhile is
bright.
By Robert Seymour Bridges,
(23 October 1844 – 21 April 1930)
was
an English poet, and poet
laureate from 1913 to
1930.
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Posted 20:18
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