poetry friday

Acorns
by Edith King

 

Oh, when the ripe acorns,
So smooth and so brown,
Get loose from their cups
And come pattering down

 

What work is in store
For the girls and the boys,
First of all to collect them,
And then to make toys.

 

For they can make thimbles,
And tiny doll’s cradles,
And thorn-handled saucepans,
And egg-cups and ladles,

 

Extinguishers, flower-pots,
Baskets and rings,
And barrels and buckets,
And all kinds of things.

 

They can stock a whole shop,
If they have any brains,
And use a small penknife,
And plenty of pains.