Songs for Parents

Part 1

Produced by Stewart A. Levin, and Curtis Farrar

SONGS FOR PARENTS

By John Farrar

Dedication

Here's a rhyme for Barbara, Laughing white and pink, Here's a rhyme for smiling Ted, And one for Wink.

Now Dick's not much at reading rhymes, He'd rather sit and fish. Well here's a couple of verses, Dick, Read them if you wish!

Contents

Dedication

SONGS OF DESIRE

Summer Explorer Spring Wish Ambition Dreams Water-Lily Humor Independence

SONGS FOR OUT OF DOORS

A Comparison Speculation Parade Flower Preferences Parental Advice Song for a Child Watching Clouds Problem Garden Musings My Garden Tracks Chanticleer Rainbow Windmill Cat-Fish Visiting Castles Parenthood

SONGS OF CIRCUMSTANCE

Moral Song Serious Omission Choice Natural Fireworks Conspiracy Cuckoo Clock The Sentinel Royalty Crackers The Drum Theatricals Sally

SONGS FOR A CHRISTMAS TREE

Bundles The Candy Santa Claus The Tinsel Star The Ambitious Mouse Prayer

SONGS OF DESIRE

Summer Explorer

I'd like to be a gypsy With gold rings in my ears, Along the road to sit and sing, And not do another thing For years and years;

A road to dream upon by day, A fire for dreams at night, Free to wander far away, Free to shout and free to play, Quite impolite.

I'd pitch my tent beside a wall, All apple trees within, And if the apples didn't fall, I wouldn't hesitate at all. I'd climb--and sin!

But if the weather wasn't fine, If all the world were rain, If there weren't anywhere to dine And goose-flesh quivered up my spine-- I might come home again!

Spring Wish

A frog's a very happy thing, Cool and green in early spring, Quick and silver through the pool, With no thought of books or school.

Oh, I want to be a frog, Sunning, stretching on a log, Blinking there in splendid ease, Swimming naked when I please, Nosing into magic nooks, Quiet marshes, noisy brooks.

Free! And fit for anything! Oh, to be a frog in spring!

Ambition

If I were a rocket Shot high across the night, I'd rather burst in silver stars Than green or purple light;

Part 2

For then, perhaps, I'd fool the moon, Although she's very wise, And thinking me a baby star She'd keep me in the skies.

Dreams

I'd like to dream my own dreams, Instead of dreaming those The silly sandman brings along Like moving picture shows.

I'd like to dream of palaces, Of magic meadowlands, Of silver gates and golden thrones And chanting fairy bands;

Of seas of spraying jewels, Of dancing crystal ships, Of the queen of all the elves herself-- Two rubies for her lips;

But, alas! I never dream such things, And when I jump and wake As an oozy ogre clutches me-- It's just a stomach ache!

Water-Lily

I'd like to be a water-lily sleeping on the river, Where solemn rushes whisper, and funny ripples quiver. All day I'd watch the blue sky--all night I'd watch the black, Floating in the soft waves, dreaming on my back, And when I'd tired of dreaming, I'd call a passing fish, "I want to find the sea!" I'd shout, "Come! You can grant my wish!"

He'd bite me from my moorings, and softly I would slip To the center of the river like an ocean-going ship. The waves would laugh upon me. The wind would blow me fast, And oh, what shores and wonders would greet me as I passed! Yes, if I were a water-lily, I'd sail to sea in state-- A green frog for my captain--and a dragon-fly for mate!

Humor

Have you ever watched the clowns at play, White, red and black on circus day? They're always very, very gay. I wonder how they stay that way!

I'd like to be a clown, Playing tricks around the town, Turning somersaults and springs, As if they were easy things, Laughing morning, noon and night, Being such a funny sight!

Do you think, then, I'd grow tired of fun, Laughing so from sun to sun? Or, when performances are done, Do clown-folk cry like anyone?

Independence

I like to go out in the night When there's neither a sound nor a light, With my hands and feet bare, And the wind in my hair, Not a nurse nor a parent in sight;

But only the night, moon and me As I dance in the dew joyfully, Quite daring and bold For there's no one to scold, Because there is no one to see.

SONGS FOR OUT OF DOORS

A Comparison

Apple blossoms look like snow, They're different, though. Snow falls softly, but it brings Noisy things: Sleighs and bells, forts and fights, Cosy nights.

But apple blossoms when they go, White and slow, Quiet all the orchard space, Till the place Hushed with falling sweetness seems Filled with dreams.

Speculation

I wonder if God sits alone Upon the highest mountain stone To stir the clouds and drop the rain, And then to pick it up again.

I wonder if he sends the brooks Foaming from their distant nooks, And, sitting there in robes of gray, Turns rivers on at break of day.

Parade

The scarlet trumpet flowers are gay And yet they never seem to play, They never trumpet up the dawn Nor blow retreat across the lawn.

But oh, to-day I heard a strain, A happy, martial, quick refrain, As down across the garden grass I saw the marching flowers pass:

Gaudy phlox and flaunting rose, Stiff and straight and on their toes, And, blaring from the garden wall, The trumpet flower led them all.

Flower Preferences

Part 3

If I were a tiny fairy With nothing else to do But to wriggle into flowers All the long day through,

I'd dance among the roses, I'd take a stately walk, Balancing precisely On an Easter-lily stalk.

For play I'd choose the jonquils, For swimming, poppy cups, For jokes and tricks and tiny naps, The Johnny-jump-ups!

But on some quiet evening, I'd leave my fairy band, And on a star-flower through the sky I'd sail to fairyland.

Parental Advice

Who laid the egg that hatched the moon? Was it the earth, I wonder, Was it the sun, the clouds, or rain, Was it night or thunder?

If I were mother to the moon I'd spank her every day Until she learned to stay at home And never run away!

Song for a Child Watching Clouds

I've watched the clouds by day and night, Great fleecy ones all filled with light, Gray beasts that steal across the sky, And little fellows slipping by.

Sometimes they seem like sheep at play, Sometimes when they are dull and gray The pale sun seems a ship to me, Sailing through a rolling sea;

And I've seen faces in them too, Funny white men on the blue, They look so many different ways, And not one single cloudlet stays;

But on across the heavens they blow, I often wonder where they go, Now sometime, maybe when I die, I, too, will wander through the sky.

Problem

If I were a violet I'd think it a shame To be always so simple and modest and tame, To be hidden away like a hermit or nun While the hare-brained pink roses can dance in the sun! But consider the naughty wild ways of the rose-- There must be respectable flowers, I suppose!

Garden Musings

Why is the lily so stately and still? Why doesn't she dance like the gay daffodil? Why doesn't she blush like the rose or the pink, Or, like mischievous pansy, indulge in a wink? Do you think it's because she is holier than they, Or did God just decide he would make her that way?

My Garden

My garden was silly and stubborn; I worked, but the weeds worked, too; I dug and scraped and scrambled-- They hustled themselves and grew;

Now Ted's garden's fine and cleanly, He has lettuce and roses and peas-- Oh, most probably plants are like children-- They only behave when they please!

Tracks

I wonder where the rabbits go Who leave their tracks across the snow; For when I follow to their den The tracks always start out again.

Chanticleer

High and proud on the barnyard fence Walks rooster in the morning. He shakes his comb, he shakes his tail And gives his daily warning.

"Get up, you lazy boys and girls, It's time you should be dressing!" I wonder if he keeps a clock, Or if he's only guessing.

Rainbow

The rainbow comes across the hill, It shines upon the sky, until It frightens all the tears from rain, And then it hides itself again.

Now when I'm very tired of play I'll cross that rainbow bridge some day; And while dear nurse and father scold, I'll reach the end--and find the gold!

Windmill

Part 4

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.

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