हियरइस अनोठेर पोएम फॉर यू, एन्जॉय अत diddilydeedotsdremland

In 1891, Edgar Guest came with his family to the United States from England. After he began at the Detroit Free Press as a copy boy and then a reporter, his first poem appeared December 11, 1898. He became a naturalized citizen in 1902.

It Couldn't Be Done
Edgar A Guest

Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
 But he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
 Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
 On his face.  If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
 That couldn't be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;
 At least no one ever has done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
 And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
 Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
 That couldn't be done, and he did it.

Remember you can read the whole of Perfect Body at diddilydeedotsdreamland.

THE PERFECT BODY

Said little hands to little feet
“You grow bigger every day”

Said little feet to little hands
                                                     “Is that all you’ve got to say,


Why I can run and walk and jump
And bang my soles together,
And wear the finest fur lined boots
In wet and windy weather”

Tilly has an awful cold, catch up with the rest of the story at diddilydeedotsdreamland

POOR TILLY TEAPOT HAS CAUGHT A COLD!


The snow lay thick on the ground. Toby and Tilly had only been home from the Alps a week but already Toby was getting fed up with all the snow.
Tilly had got a cold and she couldn't go out, in fact doctor had come to visit her in the teapot.
Toby put a hot water bottle in her bed, and made her a hot drink of blackcurrant and lemon.
Can you see poor Tilly in bed, she is already warming her feet on the hot water bottle.
The Doctor said Tilly had a bad cold, but at least it wasn't flu, but she must still stay in bed for at least five days, when her tablets and medicine would be finished.


"Five whole days!" spluttered Toby, as he tidied around Tilly's bedroom for her before he took Candy and Sweetie Pie out for a walk.
<

For the rest of this Nonsense story from Sebia, come to diddilydeedot.zoomshare.com/

NONSENSE FROM SERBIA

A little boy came to a mill with a bag of corn that he wanted ground. As he was a Serbian and every Serbian knows that beardless men are a crafty race, the boy was sorry to see that the miller's chin was as smooth as an egg. However the corn was ground, and the miller said: "I tell you what my son, I'll make this into a loaf for you.".
The loaf was mixed and baked, and as it steamed on the ground the miller said:
"Of course I expect half of it for my trouble; yet it seems a pity to cut it. I've a good idea; the one who can say the most nonsensical things shall have the loaf.
The poor boy was forced to submit, and the miller began. He said:
"There was once a king, a silent woman and a grateful man."
"That is only sneering," returned the boy. "I can tell you something worth listening to." He set his wits to work with a will, and this is the tale he told the miller.

The Tale of the Grand Father Clock

Grandfather Clock

He stands on the stairs,
Just half-way down,
Weathered and worn and old and brown,
Stilled is his 'tick' and dumb his chime
And nobody asks him what's the time,
Nobody asks him,
Nobody cares,
Nobody stops on the way down stairs,
To look at his honest face and see.
That he's never moved on from half past three.

The dining room clock is wound each night,
The clock in the drawing room's always right,
And down in the kitchen cook declares
Her clock goes better than those upstairs.
The clock in the study, the clock in the hall,
The great round clock on the nursery wall,
Yes, every clock may work with a will.
But up on the landing time stand still.

The day has gone since Grandfather Clock
Filled the house with his deep 'tick-tock,'
His 'tick' is still and his chime is dumb,
And he'll stay like that till kingdom come.
But although he is always half-past three,
'Well, once every day I'm right' says he.
'There's little a worn out clock can do,
But once every day my hands point true!

Hugh Chesterman,

could you not see in your mind the big Grand Father Clock standing on the corner of the stairs. The old Victorian Houses and Edwardian Houses had three main floors then the cellar. We lived in the bottom floor and bathed in the cellar, tin bath and all. plus the spiders, always the spiders. my Grandmother and Auntie Irene lived in the front of the house and my Auntie Grace, Uncle Bill and cousin on the second floor. They also had a bathroom, wow, we never used it mind. Grandmother's, Grandfather Clock stood on the landing at the top of the second flight of stairs. Funny how stories can bring back memories of ones own child-hood.

A small excerpt from the diary of Bryn Roberts 1853.

 

My Diary, Bryn Roberts, Monday 28th February 1853.


Today has been one of the worst days of my life. I
will be glad to leave this God forsaken canal and
the barge, anything than spend another day like this!
To begin with it has been snowing for most of the
day, my feet are cold, my hands are skinned to the
bone where the damned tow rope kept slipping
through them. God how I hate this job.
Ha! A job, I don't even get paid for it. "you've
got to be fourteen before you get any money boyo".
Oh yeah, fourteen before I get any money but six
when I started walking the paths, even towing the
ropes with my brothers when the damn horse went
sick or lame.

No I've had enough, cramped up in a tiny cabin with
three sisters, the oldest not yet nine, the
youngest not yet walking. Maybe that's a blessing
at least one less under my feet. I suppose I should
be grateful that I've got under the table to sleep
by myself now that Iolo has left for the mines. My
heart still grieves for Iolo, still it was his
decision. Poor Mam, she was looking very old this
morning Gone her lovely black hair, now just grey
and going more grey with each rising day.

Old Mostyn Evans died this morning of the Cholera,
they say three of his young ones will be gone in
the next day or two as well. Poor Mrs Evans I
suppose it will be the Workhouse for her and
Myfanwy and Rhian, God help them.
I counted seventeen rats this afternoon down by the
lock gate. It made me wonder if Istyn Morris lost
his leg down at Neath or if the rats ate it whilst
he was asleep. If the Navvies from England kept
their rubbish proper like us Welsh, then maybe
there wouldn't be so many rats.

I heard from Marie Lloyd that two children where
drowned at Resolven Yesterday, two less mouths to
feed. Still t'is sad to think of so many children
dying this way and most of them not reached their
ninth birthday. Still who wants birthday's, nothing
to look forward to there either.

"No money Bryn" Dada would say. "You know what it's
like in winter, and now with these railways taking
all our business we'd probably do better going on a
ship to America along with the Irish."

Well this is me, thirteen in a months time and
nothing to look forward to except more blisters and
chilblains this winter and more sunburnt backs and
arms in summer. Not if I can help it! Not me. I'll
follow Iolo down the pit, not good but nothing
could be worse than this. But how can I go, what
would happen to Mam and Dada.
Still it's nice to
dream.

Goodnight Dada, I love you Mam. Time to sleep.
Bryn.R.

A small excerpt from one of the books written by
the wonderful Alexander Cordell. start with "The
Fire People" get hooked and then the first Trilogy,
"The Rape of a Fair Country" "The Rebecca Riots," and
"Songs of the Earth" Da Iawn, as we say
in Welsh.

a small story from the pen of Eleanor Farjeon, The Princess of China

As you can see I have been back to Wikipeadia checking up on the author of this little tale I am about to tell you. I had forgotten all about her, and it was only when Peter brought me home this book all about her that I remembered some of her wonderful works. Here you go then a wondeful story by Miss Eleanor Farjeon called:-

The Princess of China

You must know that while the children had their supper, the Old Nurse did a bit of darning; her stocking-basket was always full of the four children's stockings, with holes in the toes and heels, and even in the knees. And the Old Nurse would fish out a pair by chance, and draw it down over her left hand, and turn it this way and that, looking for a hole. And then while she threaded her darning-needle with the right worsted, she would fish about in her memory for a tale to fit the hole, and when the hole was finished then the tale was done. The children always watched anxiously when she was looking at the stocking for the hole in it, because a little hole only meant a little story, and a big hole meant a longer one.

'Here's a tiny hole!' aid the Old Nurse, picking out Mary Matilda's little sock. 'Just a speck in the toe, and nothing more. But what would you expect of a baby, with a foot no bigger than that of the Princess of China?'

I was nurse to the Princess of China before England was old enough to know it had a name. I had been nurse before that to her mother, the Queen, who was now a widow. The Princess was the tiniest and most enchanting litle creature in the world - as light as a butterfly, and as fragile as glass. A silver spoonful of rice made a big meal for her, and when she said, 'Oh Nanny, I am so thirsty!' I would fill my thimble with milk and give it to her to drink; and then she left half of it. I made up her bed in my work-box,and cut my pocket handkerchief in half two for a pair of sheets. Her laugh was like the tinkle of a raindrop falling on a glass bell. Really when we went out walking I was afraid of losing her! So I slipped her into my purse, and left it open, and carried her like that. And as we walked through the streets of Peking, she would peep out of the purse and say, 'What a lot of people there are in the world, Nanny!' But when we walked in the rice fieds, and she saw the butterflies at play, she cried, "Oh Nanny! who are all those darling litle people, and why do they never come to to see me in the palace?'
One day there came a message to the Queen of China that the Emperor of Tartary was coming to marry her daughter and when the Princess was told the news, she never stopped asking me a string of little questions 'Where is Tartary Nanny? Will I like Tartary? Are the people little there, or big? What is the Emperor like? Will I like him? Is he very enormous? Is he nice and tiny? What will be his wear?
I couldn't answer most of her questions, but when she cme to the last one, I said, 'He'll wear purple, pet, like every other Emperor.'
'Purple!' she said. 'How pretty! Now I shall know him when I see him, my pretty little purple Emperor!' and the Princess of China clapped her tiny hands.

Tibet, The Roof of the World. A country that seems to have so much going on around it, but I think I shall look inside it's temples.

TIBET

One seems to be a feared of putting pen to paper as far as Tibet goes, It seems that which ever way I read facts and legends, mythology and stories I could effectively upset someone along the way. I know that many years ago I wrote out a story from a book about a Chinese Princess going to Tibet to marry a Tibetan Prince. She was carried all the way to Tibet, high into the mountains in her special chair, with an entourage of servants and all her belongings. The journey was arduous and difficult but it was thought that a marriage between the two countries would be helpful to both sides in the keeping of peace.
The Princess had always been told that the Tibetan people were monsters, with huge ugly bodies and even uglier faces which were blue. She was very frightened and yet I thought to myself, "How could a father give up his beautiful daughter to be taken to a strange land and therefore marry someone with nothing but hate and fear." The more I thought about it the more I thought, until I came to the decision that he wouldn't sink so low as to sacrifice beauty unless there was true hope, and therefore this Prince mustn't be as evil as he was painted. This of course did nothing to help the young princess and within a few miles of the city, the small entourage was bought to a halt by a hoard of brigands, who appeared out of no where.
But the princess was lucky for to her rescue arrived a gallant man, dressed in colourful robes and black hair, who chased the brigands away.He offered to accompany the young girl on the last leg of her journey and was very taken by her beauty. Is was not long until the princess told the young man, where she was going and why and of course her fear of meeting the blue faced prince. The Prince was very kind and said he would stay with her till they we

TIBET

One seems to be a feared of putting pen to paper as far as Tibet goes, It seems that which ever way I read facts and legends, mythology and stories I could effectively upset someone along the way. I know that many years ago I wrote out a story from a book about a Chinese Princess going to Tibet to marry a Tibetan Prince. She was carried all the way to Tibet, high into the mountains in her special chair, with an entourage of servants and all her belongings. The journey was arduous and difficult but it was thought that a marriage between the two countries would be helpful to both sides in the keeping of peace.
The Princess had always been told that the Tibetan people were monsters, with huge ugly bodies and even uglier faces which were blue. She was very frightened and yet I thought to myself, "How could a father give up his beautiful daughter to be taken to a strange land and therefore marry someone with nothing but hate and fear." The more I thought about it the more I thought, until I came to the decision that he wouldn't sink so low as to sacrifice beauty unless there was true hope, and therefore this Prince mustn't be as evil as he was painted. This of course did nothing to help the young princess and within a few miles of the city, the small entourage was bought to a halt by a hoard of brigands, who appeared out of no where.
But the princess was lucky for to her rescue arrived a gallant man, dressed in colourful robes and black hair, who chased the brigands away.He offered to accompany the young girl on the last leg of her journey and was very taken by her beauty. Is was not long until the princess told the young man, where she was going and why and of course her fear of meeting the blue faced prince. The Prince was very kind and said he would stay with her till they were within the castle. It was soon and it was in fairy story fashion that the young princess immediately fell in love with the stranger and him with her. So weren't we all relieved when it turned out that the Prince was of course the Tibetan Prince and he didn't have a blue face at all. And likewise, the Tibetan prince was very relieved that the Chinese Princess was extremely beautiful and that he could think of no one more than her , he would love to marry and share his life with.
The story I read all those years ago , well it might have been a myth.... or it might also have been true. The fact is that I wasn't part of the entourage, and I didn't pretend to be a brigand hundreds of years ago. Not even one hundred years ago or even yesterday. So I can not judge either the Chinese Emperor or the Tibetan King, for they only knew first had what actually happened. We can only read what others have put down on paper or stone all those years ago.

I can sit here for another twenty minutes and write out the same story but instead of a happy ending, I can decide to have the princess killed and the Prince captured and killed in retaliation. That too would be commended to the same paper! but I wonder which version the story tellers would relate?
re within the castle. It was soon and it was in fairy story fashion that the young princess immediately fell in love with the stranger and him with her. So weren't we all relieved when it turned out that the Prince was of course the Tibetan Prince and he didn't have a blue face at all. And likewise, the Tibetan prince was very relieved that the Chinese Princess was extremely beautiful and that he could think of no one more than her , he would love to marry and share his life with.
The story I read all those years ago , well it might have been a myth.... or it might also have been true. The fact is that I wasn't part of the entourage, and I didn't pretend to be a brigand hundreds of years ago. Not even one hundred years ago or even yesterday. So I can not judge either the Chinese Emperor or the Tibetan King, for they only knew first had what actually happened. We can only read what others have put down on paper or stone all those years ago.

I can sit here for another twenty minutes and write out the same story but instead of a happy ending, I can decide to have the princess killed and the Prince captured and killed in retaliation. That too would be commended to the same paper! but I wonder which version the story tellers would relate?

THE PONTYBODKYN THEATRE SHOW

Hello welcome to

THE PONTYBODKYN THEATRE SHOW
Featuring
"A Different Seven
Wonders"

THE SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD

A group of students were
asked to list what they thought were the
present
"Seven Wonders of the World."
Though there were some disagreements,
the
following received the most votes:

1. Egypt's Great Pyramids

2. Taj Mahal

3. Grand Canyon

4. Panama Canal

5. Empire State
Building

6. St. Peter's
Basilica

7. China's Great
Wall

While gathering the votes, the teacher
noted that one student
had not finished her
paper yet. So she asked the girl if
she
was having trouble with her list. The girl
replied,
"Yes, a little. I couldn't
quite make up my mind
because there were
so many."

The teacher said, "Well, tell us
what you have, and
maybe we can
help.

"The girl hesitated, then
read, "I think the
'Seven Wonders of the
World' are: