Hear the humble bumble
of the buzzy wuzzy bees,
as they flitter and they flutter
through the flowers and the trees.
Gathering in sweet pollen
to take home to their hive,
where they make the runny honey
that helps the whole world thrive.
Image from Pexels by Michael Hodgins
I love your little little feet
and your little little toes,
your little little shoes
that match with little clothes.
I love your little little legs
with little dumpling knees
which wibble wibble wobble
like little sticks of cheese.
I love the little little button
in the middle of your tummy,
I love your little little giggles
and little thoughts; so funny!
I love your little little teeth;
precious yoghurt pearls
and your little little furry brows
beneath your bouncy curls.
I love the little little sparkle
in your dolly dolly eyes.
I wonder, how your little mouth
lets out such gigantic cries?
Photo from Pexels by Pixabay
Tiddle and toddle and piggy pink toes,
buckles and buttons and bouncy big bows,
hopping on one foot and marching with two;
flip flops and booties or Dad’s giant shoe?
Slip on some slippers and slide into socks,
stomp in green gumboots and clomp in blue Crocs,
sandals and sneakers and snakes of shoelace,
feetsies and footsies all over the place.
Trying on shoes whether shiny or frayed,
on again, off again, join the parade!
Photo from Pexels by Max Schwoelk
Why is it called a bearded iris?
There’s not a whisker in sight.
Unless, of course, it had a shave
sometime in the night.
I think it looks just great
without a bristling beard,
and it if had a moustache
that would look very weird!
Bearded iris. Photo by Ginette Pestana
On the dreamy river,
drifting with the tide,
past old shutter’d houses
where history lives inside.
Breezes tease the palms,
stir a lazy frond or two,
and in the milky sky
the heat is shining through.
The Portuguese and Dutch,
the British all were here;
five hundred years of stories
like magic can appear.
An old kampong by the Melaka River, Malaysia. Photo by Ginette Pestana
I wish that in my bathroom
I had a shower like this!
All that water tumbling —
wouldn’t it be bliss?
Cascading down my back,
in a rushing flow!
The only problem is,
where would so much water go?
I’d need a massive drainhole
to carry it away,
and one enormous tap
to turn it on each day.
Waterfall, Milford Sound, New Zealand. Photo by Ginette Pestana
I leap up high and bend in two
till toes and fingers meet,
then follow with a somersault
and land back on my feet.
I bounce back to a dizzy height,
my hands attached to hips,
then arch my spine as I prepare
to do my backward flips.
Both Mum and Dad are sorry now,
the sorriest they’ve been
for never having got around
to buying a trampoline.
There’s clearly been some wear and tear
from all those tricks I’ve aced.
The mattress on my bed is wrecked
and needs to be replaced.
Image from Pexels by RDNE Stock
It is a pretty spot one may well admire
This land holds a history of harsh drought and fire
The farm has gentle hills others very steep
A home for generations an ideal place for sheep
Miranda had a job her project took a year
She grew a fleece of wool and now it’s time to shear
Perhaps a little precious not fond of being shorn
But it must be done before her lamb is born
Many years were spent in perfection of her line
Today she is known as Merino Superfine
Time to get a start according to the clock
Waiting in the holding pen with the others of her flock
And so the day begins nothing more is said
The combs come alive within the shearing shed
A highly skilled team and trusted roustabout
They’ll have the lot done before the day is out
It’s Miranda’s turn! She’s plucked from the fold
Taken swift but kind safe in expert hold
The shearer knows his trade and shorn across the land
Miranda needn’t fret there’s not a better hand
The shears begin to buzz belly, back legs and ‘round
Taking extra care where her teats are found
Topknot trimmed away chest and neck are clear
With skill of a surgeon around her eye and ear
Now the pace quickens moves becoming bolder
Shears glide to take the fleece away from Miranda’s shoulder
Then longer blows shearer’s got the knack
The fleece is giving way handpiece sweeps her back
Next the other side strength completes the job
Miranda’s out the shoot and rejoins her mob
Miranda returns to graze and grow next year’s clip
Today’s fleece will make its way to foreign lands by ship
As early Springtime comes marked by longer days
She’ll have another job to do a newborn lamb to raise
Image from Pixabay
My nose is buried in a book,
as I read from cover to cover,
and with every line I read,
new things I discover.
Each word makes a picture,
each picture fires my brain —
it’s such a great adventure,
how can I explain?
One day I will write a book
and everyone will read it —
an author I am going to be,
and you’d best believe it!
Image from Pexels by Min An
Australian Children’s Poetry 