The windmill stands up like a flower on the hill
With its petals a-whirling--they seldom stay still--
And its funny old voice creaking all the long day
As it scolds little breezes for running away.



Cat-Fish


The cat-fish with whiskers that lives in the brook,
Is an ugly old beast with the wickedest look.
I suppose there were mouse-fish one time in brook town
Till that ugly old cat-fish gulped all of them down.



Visiting


You and I shall travel far,
We'll pass the old earth by,
We'll ride the moon and drive a star
Across the evening sky.

We'll flash upon the milky way
To pay Dame Night a call--
But should we happen on old Day--