Poems (Crandall)/Something New
Something New.
How eager and restless the little hands For something new to do.They were tired of fishing, of keeping house And of all the games they knew.
When the brother espied behind the barn, A clump of unsightly weeds;Crisp were the brown and sun-dried stalks, And ripe the crisp brown seeds.
"Oh, see!" he cried, "we can play it is corn, I'm the horse to draw it away,Then we'll husk it all, and give the stalks To our cow in the place of hay."
No sooner said than the fun began, They stripped off the ripened seed;And fed a most remarkable cow This most remarkable feed.
"And now," said the lass, "we'll play it is spring Our cow must to pasture go.We will be men and work in the field, To day our corn we'll sow."
So back and forth across the yard Sped the small feet bare and browned;Until the seed of the yellow dock Lay thick upon the ground.
"Look, grandma is coming." Away they fly Thro' the gate and down the road;And think no more of the morning's play, Or the field of corn they sowed.
Long years passed by and the little maid A woman now in her prime,Came back to visit her childhood's home And to dream of the olden time.
She feasted her eyes on the race, the dam, The stream with its waters clear,The garden, the meadow, the woods, the fields; Each spot to memory dear.
"But father how did the yellow dock Ever gain such a standing here?""I have tried," he said, "to keep it down But it springs up anew each year."
And then like a flash to the woman's mind Came the scene of that autumn morn,When two little happy barefoot rogues Were sowing their field of corn.
Thus children sometimes of larger growth, While seeking fresh joys to gain,Are sowing seed that can only bring A harvest of grief and pain.
Then girls and boys when you long for change— For something new—be sureThat your joys yield not a crop of weeds, That your pleasures sweet, are pure.