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Time

Time controls each minute.

Every hour and every day.

From a Time to be born.

To a Time to be carried away.

 

For nine months

Mary gave God Time.

Alone she carried within,

The Infant Divine

 

Three wise men

Followed a star till dawn.

Trekked wearily through Time,

To see the Christ Child Born.

 

Christmas is a special Time

At different times

Around our spinning Earth.

A special Time indeed

To celebrate Christ’s birth.

 

Time is such a special gift.

We need so much each day.

This is the gift I offer you,

To help you on your way.

 

You dwell within my heart

Family, you are mine

Pray accept this gift of love

Let me give my Time.

 

© Robyn Youl

Poem of the Day

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                 The Yarn of Shaun the Sheep

Two Tasmanian farmers have found what they hope to prove is the world’s woolliest sheep. They believe it has been wandering wild for six years and never been shorn.

Peter and Netty Hazell discovered the animal, nicknamed Shaun, wandering on their farm and decided to take him in.

You ought to hear the yarn the folks are spinning

now the news is out both far and wide

about the Tassie wonder from down-under –

our Shaun the Sheep, the nation’s woolly pride.

 

Now Shaun was just a lamb six years ago

when fire came blazing near his eastern farm

and Shaun thought “Yikes! It’s time to do a runner.

If I stay put I’m sure to come to harm.”

 

So off he went to wander through the mountains

and live a lonesome life beneath the trees.

He didn’t fancy staying to be roasted.

He thought the better option was to freeze.

 

But no, he didn’t freeze. His woolly fleece

grew thicker by the day as he went west

and Shaun the Sheep became a walking doona

(a first-rate one – merino at its best).

 

and as the days and months and years went by

that fleece became so big it swallowed Shaun.

But then it chanced that Pete and Netty Hazell

were driving in their ute one autumn morn

 

and saw that fleece – or was it someone’s doona? –

abandoned in a hedge beyond the road.

They went to have a look. The doona bleated.

“Hey Pete! There’s something living in this load!”

 

Then sure enough they saw that doona move.

And as these folks were kind and tender-hearted

they took the creature home to sort it out,

and since that day the three have not been parted.

 

For Shaun the Sheep has learnt to live in style

and changed his name to Shaun the Superstar,

for Shaun was shorn and now he is a legend.

That fleece of his is famous near and far.

 

The Aussie owners say his wool is destined

to make at least three jumpers – superfine.

But if you check what’s told around the campfires

you’ll find an even better story-line.

 

It seems that in that famous Aussie fleece

there lurks a kind of magic super-power

and like a certain Aussie magic pudding

it keeps on growing bigger by the hour.

 

The latest count is now at thirty-five

new woolly garments! Now do you suppose

that yarn could make (if someone keeps on spinning)

the right stuff for an emperor’s new clothes?

 

© Kate O’neil

 

 

 

Poem of the Day

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The oyster way

 

An irritating grain of sand

or pesky piece of grit,

it slips inside the oyster shell

and finds a place to sit.

 

The oyster greets the irksome pest,

confronts it face to face,

bestows it with a soft caress,

a silky, smooth embrace.

 

How wonderful our lives could be,

how great for me and you

if we could tackle obstacles

the way the oysters do.

 

We’d gather all those gritty bits

that grind in vicious swirls

then smooth and sculpture each in turn

to shape a string of pearls.

 

 

©  Jenny Erlanger

 

Poem of the Day

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The House that Never Sleeps

 

Our house is a blinking one,

A winking, ever-thinking one,

At night when all the work is done,

Our house is standing by.

 

The laptop light is pulsing white

In case it’s needed in the night

To play a game or book a flight,

It’s always standing by.

 

The bright light on the video

Is glowing green, all set to go,

In case we want to watch a show,

It’s always standing by.

 

The red lights on the Xbox E,

The microwave, the smart TV,

All stab the dark impatiently,

Forever standing by.

 

Our house is ready all night long

To heat some food or play a song,

Till all the fossil fuels are gone,

Our house is standing by.

 

© Jill McDougall

 

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Farmyard Band

The cow was playing cowbells,
Giddy Goat joined in on his guitar,
The horse was hoofing bongo drums,
Animals started coming from afar.
The chicken clucked an egg out,
Pig was oinking right in time,
Duck was tinkling on her triangle
While dog was hammering on his chime.
Pussy picked up her piccolo,
Goose was flapping on his flute,
Donkey brayed on a big trombone,
It really was a farmyard hoot.

© John Williams

Poem of the Day

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Barefoot

 
Days are longer. Getting warmer.
Sun is higher overhead.
Restless toes begin their twitching.
Barefoot days not far ahead.

At last December comes around.
Summer holidays are here.
That’s when toes come out to play.
That’s the time when feet go bare.

Let’s all run across the grass.
But do look out for bindi eyes.
Ow! Ow! Ouch! They’re everywhere.
Hear our barefoot bindi cries.

Watch us dance the bindi ballet
Quick steps, big steps on our toes.
Hidden prickles keep us leaping
if we step where bindi grows.

Best of all are barefoot beach-days
racing on the summer sand.
Ow! It’s hot! Run to the water.
Run to the edge. Whew! See us stand

doing the barefoot wet-sand wiggle.
See us sink on toes that squirm
down through clouds of sand and shells,
ankles wrapped in swirling foam.

Barefoot days pass far too quickly.
Back-to-school time soon comes round.
But think how much our feet are learning
walking barefoot on the ground.

 
© Kate O’Neil