|Butler's New American Practical Arithmetic|
|Two lost poems found.|
Who was the writer of these short gems? They must have been of some value and meaning for whomever wrote them, tucked them away for safekeeping. As with the note from the earlier blog, I felt obligated to share them lest they be lost and never seen again.
Her garden, February plants
In beds, like brilliants bars,
Upon a field of fadeless blue,
She sows bright stars.
Dear little birdies, on dear little wings
Hop about chirping, such dear little things
We can't sing carols I just heard one day
But don't we look like Christmas
This Christmas day.
*Bloggers note: The word "like" before Christmas was crossed off with pencil at a later time. I opted to include it.