Prickly bindi-eyes sting my feet
when on the summer grass I walk.
In everyone’s backyard I’ll meet
Prickly bindi-eyes!
And even when tip-toed I stalk,
hoping their menace I can cheat,
I fail — and you can hear my squawk!
Bindi-eyes love the summer heat,
And I — I’d need eyes like a hawk
To avoid them in ev’ry street —
Prickly bindi-eyes!
Season’s greetings — but which season?
Bush fires start much earlier now.
When the country’s devastated,
What joy will light the Christmas hour?
Stumps of houses, chimneys blackened,
Nowhere for Santa Claus to stop!
No trees this year decked with tinsel,
They’re just a charred and cheerless crop.
With all our presents wrapped in dust,
And no grass to feed the reindeer,
I hate to think of Christmas morn;
It will get worse year after year!
When climate change changes Christmas,
No Santa through the sky will dash.
Yes, we’ll still have our white Christmas —
But a Christmas all white with ash.
HOPE
Hope is the tiny flame
That flickers inside us all.
The flame that burns brightest
In times of fear and defeat.
Hope is the thread
That binds our hearts and souls.
Hope can be seen in the vast ocean;
The highest mountain;
The valley green;
The flowers bursting new in spring.
Hope is inside us all;
Hope is all around us.
All we have to do is touch it
And hope will do the rest.
On the eleventh hour
Of the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month,
1918, the guns fell silent.
World War One,
The war to end all wars,
Was over.
Lest we forget, in Flanders fields,
The poppies grew blood red,
When Aussie boys, far from their homes,
Were number’d ’mongst the dead.
They came from farms where red gums grew,
From ’neath the Southern Cross;
No friendly sun, no magpie’s cry,
Would ever mark their loss.
In ev’ry town, in ev’ry park,
Their solemn statues stand.
Lest we forget those brave young men
Whose honour shaped our land.
RATTY WRITING
Slopy loops,
O’s like hoops,
b’s like d’s,
a’s like e’s,
are they m’s?
are they n’s?
c that e?
no, it’s c,
lots of blots,
lots of dots —
what a scrawl,
can’t read at all!
Boing-boing,
I am, I am,
Boing-boing,
Spring lamb!
Boing-boing,
I’m lamb not ram,
Boing-boing,
Spring Lamb!
Boing-boing,
I’m lamb not ham,
Boing-boing,
Spring lamb!
Boing-boing,
At any price,
Boing-boing,
Lamb’s nice!
Teaching tip:
Ask students to bring cuttings of spring flowers.
Then invite the class to sing and clap to the tune of
“A-weema-weh… The lion sleeps tonight”.
The Lily Sleeps Tonight
A-daffo–dil, a-daffo–dil, a-daffo-dil, a-daffo-dil
A-dah-li-a, a-dah-li-a, a-dah-li-a, a-dah-li-a
A-hya–cinth, a-hya-cinth, a-hya-cinth, a-hya-cinth
A-butter-cup, a-butter-cup, a–butter-cup, a-butter-cup
In the garden, the mighty garden
The lily sleeps tonight
In the garden, the quiet garden
Its bloom is a delight
Ca–me–lli–as, ca–me–lli–as, ca–me–lli–as, ca–me–lli–as
Ra–nun–cu–lus, ra–nun–cu–lus, ra–nun–cu–lus, ra–nun–cu–lus
A-tulip-too, a-tulip-too, a–tulip-too, a-tulip-too
A-daffo–dil, a-daffo–dil, a-daffo-dil, a-daffo-dil…
A mockery of crockery
“Hey diddle diddle,”
Said the cat to the fiddle,
“The dish ran away with the spoon.”
The fiddle said, “Yo!
“That spoon had to go,
And the dish wasn’t round like the moon.”
“Hey diddle diddle,”
Said the cat to the fiddle,
“What are we going to do?”
The fiddle said, “Man,
“Eat with your hand,
“That dish and spoon belonged in a zoo.”
