The Dead Cicada
THE rain has come
And has overflowed,
The dew and the frost
Are on the road.
The last of the grass
Has drooped its head,
The cicada is on it,
Frozen dead.
Brother Wants Fruit
MY dear little brother,
Is fat and is round,
A bracelet he wears on his arm,
A red chest protector,
A green pair of pants,
Keep him neither too cool nor too warm.
A small tuft of hair
On the side of his head,
In his cheeks dainty dimples that suit;
When he toddles he trembles,
To sister he says:
“Tum an’ buy itty bothy some f’uit.”