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The King and the Blind Girl.
fountain with roses
By a fountain in a garden there's a throne without a king
and although roses scent the air there are no birds to sing
for all the birds have flown away to search for hidden treasure.

A blind girl wanders on the lawn, barefoot for her pleasure;
she feels the daisies with her toes, the buttercups and marigolds,
she hears the crystal fountains sing - ancient hymns and madrigals.

But silver tears softly fall from her curtained eyes
and 'neath her crown of golden curls her lips release soft sighs.
"The birds, the birds," she speaks aloud,  "the birds have stolen the King
- the flowers mute, the roses deaf, the fountain only, sings..."

Against the empty throne she leans, pensive, full of woeSwan in the evening dusk
til o'er her wilting head, unseen, there arcs a pale rainbow
debouching strands of entwined colour that fall before her feet,
streaming down the rainbow's length, scores of birds that chirp and tweet,
their feathers all of tinted hues their beaks all full of glitter
and from their throats  spring forth true songs full of fairie glamour!

In a cloud of coloured wings, crimson, gold and silver, emerald
and tourmaline and frosted mint of aquamarine
they lift the gold-haired maid aloft and fly towards the river.

There, upon a swan-winged boat the king lays strangely sleeping
and on the mossy, bullrushed banks small animals are weeping.
The blind girl touched his care-lined face, she touched his bearded lips,
she lay her body next to his and gently kissed his fingertips.

Then seven rainbow-coloured swans swam before the King's death-boat
and bore it through the evening skies -

but to what cosmic bourne they swam, none can claim to be that wise!

Perhaps the birds might have a clue but they have also vanished.
Where poetry and magic meet bare truth must sometimes languish.

By a fountain in a garden there's a throne without a king
and although roses scent the air there are no birds to sing
for all the birds have flown away to search for hidden treasure.
Of Mystery there is no end, it has no root or measure.

                            Willowdown Manila. 1997©

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        When I was a child living on my father's farm, one of our sows had a litter of thirteen piglets. All but one were strong and healthy. The thirteenth, being smaller and weaker, was always pushed aside by the others when it came to feeding time.
        Father brought the scrawny little thing into the house. It was unable to stand on its spindly legs, so he laid on Mother's lap.
"Weakling," Father said. "I thought you might like to bring him up indoors."

        Mother put an old apron on a chair and placed the little pig on top of it. Then she warmed some milk, dipped a finger in and let the little creature suck the milk off it. She went on doing this until it was satisfied and warmed, then fell asleep.
      Soon the fingers were replaced by a bottle. In a week Little Pig was well on the way to becoming a healthy, normal piglet. He was given a box in the kitchen to sleep in, and it became my duty to look after him.
      "Fatten him up," said Father, looking at Little Pig one day, "and we'll have roast pork for our Thanksgiving lunch party in November."
    So Little Pig was fed on sweetenrd milk, vegetables and the best pig meal, he soon grew very plump and handsome.
He followed Mother about when she went to the hen-house to look for eggs, sniffing at everything in his path. He showed us he was enjoying life by his cheerful little "ungh - ungh - unghs," and at meal times he made high pitched, demanding squeals. He allowed me to scrub him until his skin was pink, and he let me tie an even pinker ribbon round his plump neck.
      With his round, twitching nose, his bright watchful eyes and his tiny uncurled tail, he was a pig to win the love of any family.

      Father was always fond of his food, and he watched Little Pig's growth with approval. "He's going to look pretty good served up on the lunch table at the end of the month." he said early in November. Sitting on the back doorstep he was watching Little Pig nuzzle the cats away from their rightful aucer of milk.
      Mother made no reply. I looked at Father. How could he be so unfeeling? Poor Little Pig! I snatched him up and held him on my lap, glowering at Father.
      A few days later Father said to Mother, "Have you begun to save up dried bread for the roast-pork stuffing?"
      "Good gracious!" Mother exclaimed irritably. "what do you think that pig's going to be - an elephant?"
     Not long after that Little Pig began following Father about. He would thrust his pink nose curiously into the pit his master was digging for winter vegetables, or into whatever else Father happened to be doing.
     As the day of the party drew near. Father spoke more and more of the juicy dish to which he was looking forward. He increased Little Pig's daily ration of meal and milk. Mother grew tight lipped and stern. I mourned for Little Pig and kept away from Father.

      Two days before the party ather said, "I'll take the pig over to the butcher's tonight."
After supper he set off with Little Pig kicking and protesting, in a box, Mother and I sat by a lamp at home. Although the butcher lived more than a mile away, we couldn't help straining our ears to catch Pigs last shrill cry.
     At about nineo'clock Father returned and came stamping up to the back door. "Where do you want him?" he called.
"Put him down in the cellar," Mother replied coldly.

On the morning of the party the little carcass was brought up as soon as breakfast was over. At the site of it I burst into tears and fled from the kitchen.
      Uncle Frank and Aunt Catherine arrived, and then our other relations. At one o'clock we were all sitting round  the table. The rosy brown pig was in front of Father. In its mouth was a red apple.
       One by one Father filled the plates. On each plate he put a slice of pinkish white young pork, a bit of crackling brown skin, a helping of roast potatoes and a spoonful of stuffing. When he had served everyone except Mother he looked at her and said, "How big a slice would you like?"
Mother, struggling to control herself, blurted out, "I don't want any, thank you!" and burst into tears.
We all turned to look at her, the guests in astonishment. tears were streaming from my eyes. Father got up from the table and left the room.
     Mother wiped her eyes, and said in a shaky voice, "It was Little Pig. I fed him by hand - he f-followed us everywhere. I don't know h-how Father could do it!"
     Just then her tearful apology was interrupted by the sharp squeals of a struggling pig. Then we heard Fathers voice raised in mock anger.
      "Hold your tongue, you little monster!" In came Father - and in his arms, small, pink, and squirming, was Little Pig.

Every chair had been pushed back. Food was cooling on the plates. I flew from my chair to greet Little Pig and pulled him into my lap.
       "Why!" cried Mother, gasping, "What - Where -"
"Well," Father said, beaming with pleasure, "When I saw you were really set on having roast pork for lunch I thought I'd have to find some way to save Little Pig's bacon. . . so I took one of the others over to the butcher."
 "He always was an old softie," said Uncle Frank. Mother was laughing and drying her eyes. I threw my arms round Father's neck and kissed him.
     And, as far as I can remember, Little Pig lived to a fat old age and died in his sty many years later.

This wonderful story was adapted from the book Share
"The Country Kitchen" by Della T. Lutes, and was published by G. Bell & Son, London.

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The Mermaid
The Mermaid

ONE Friday morn when we set sail,
Not very far from land,
We there did espy a fair pretty maid
With a comb and a glass in her hand,
her hand, her hand,
With a comb and a glass in her hand.

While the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow,
While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,
And the land-lubbers lying down below,
below, below,
And the land-lubbers lying down below.

One Friday Morn when we set sail..T
hen up starts the captain of our gallant ship,
And a brave young man was he:
‘I’ve a wife and a child in fair Bristol town,
But a widow I fear she will be.’

For the raging seas, etc.

Then up starts the mate of our gallant ship,
And a bold young man was he:
While the raging seas did roar‘Oh! I have a wife in fair Portsmouth town,
But a widow I fear she will be.’

For the raging seas, etc.

Then up starts the cook of our gallant ship,
And a gruff old soul was he:
‘Oh! I have a wife in fair Plyouth town,
But a widow I fear she will be.’

For the raging seas, etc.

And then up spoke the little cabin-boy,

And a pretty little boy was he;
‘Oh! I am more grievd for my daddy and my mammy
Than you for your wives all three.’

ship wreck in the sea of lightsThen three times round went our gallant ship,
And three times round went she;
For the want of a life-boat they all went down,
And she sank to the bottom of the sea.

hile the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow,
While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,
And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,
And the land-lubbers lying down below.

 Beauty Sleeping has replaced sleeping beauty,
Disney took it off us.

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  Little Bright One
   Little bright one, you shed your light all around.
          Little bright one, your laughter lightens my heart.
          Little bright one, your hand is tiny in mine.
Little bright one, your smile is full of gold.

ittle dark one, the dew of spring is moist upon your eye-lashes.
         Little dark one, the bloom of summer is sweet upon your skin.
         Little dark one, the scent of autumn is fragrant in your hair.
         Little dark one, winter has not yet touched you.

recious child, there is a magic key hidden beneath a white pebble.
Precious child, there is a special place where rainbows gather.
Precious child, the river and stars are dreaming in your speech.
Precious child, what shining god holds you in his arms while you sleep?

ittle bright one, you shed your light all aroundLittle Bright One
          Little dark one, your laughter lightens my heart.
          Precious child, your hand is tiny in mine.
Little one, your child is full of gold.

What a wonderful Willowdown Wonderland we have here in Seligor's Castle, the home of Diddily Dee Dot and all her wonderful friends. People who lived many hundreds of years ago, those who are still alive now and sending me wonderful stories. I thank every author who ever wrote a child's poem or rhyme, story or tales for the wonderful contribution you have made to the youngsters of the world and their families.
 Here is a lovely little story from our friends in America, although it is made for American Conservation Programmes, I think it is a lovely way of helping the children of the world understand how important it is to help nature. She can not always manage to save the  world on her own. Here is Charlie to tell you about it.

One of the few remaining American chestnuts. We were once an important part of the forest.But when we disappeared, many animals lost their homes and favorite food. My family tree scrapbook tells this story. Will it have a happy ending? That could depend on YOU!
     Introduction - My Family Tree
  • My family, American chestnut trees, once made up about 25 percent of our eastern North American forests.
  • We grew up to 100 feet tall.
  • We lived up to 600 years.
  • Animals of the forest, including people, depended on our delicious American chestnuts.
  • Our wood was valued because of its straight, light-weight, rot-resistant qualities.
  • People used us to make everything from cradles, to chests to coffins out of us.
Starting around 1904, disaster struck.  My family fell prey to a deadly new blight .
The blight possibly arrived when Oriental chestnut trees were imported to New York City. The microscopic blight quickly spread through our forests.
Every American chestnut tree in its path became infected and died. By 1950, we had nearly disappeared from all eastern United States forests
In 1983, Dr. Charles Burnham and other scientists formed The American Chestnut Foundation to save and restore my family.  Researchers are working hard to produce a blight-resistant strain of American chestnut trees.
So won't you team up with The American Chestnut Foundation and help us "fight the blight!"
Together, we have a good chance of winning this war.
Growing Up
Since you've probably never seen one of my American chestnut family members,
 I'd like to describe myself to you and explain how we grow. This will help you understand the plight of the blight!
 I'm still inside my protective bur covering.

I'm a woody plant - but because I'm also a tree, I'll be bigger than most plants when I'm grown up.
I have one stem, which becomes my trunk. My branches grow high above the ground.

Scientists believe that trees have lived on earth for about 300 million years.

They also believe that trees have more influence on life on earth than any other plant.

Like most plants, members of my family start life as a seed, and we need water, oxygen and warm temperatures to grow.

Once a seed gets wet, it soaks up the water and swells rapidly. If the soil is warm enough, the seed will use the soil's oxygen to burn the starch it has stored inside. This is how it produces energy to grow.

Then a tiny root appears. This tiny root helps the seed absorb more water and nutrients from the soil. One day, the sapling will pop out of the ground, lifting skyward with the stem and leaves.

 Then a new root begins forcing its way down in the soil to find water and nutrients like phosphorus and nitrogen, to help it grow.

A thimble-shaped cap protects the dividing cells and smoothes the passage of the root through the soil..

The roots' main job is to find water. Its little tiny hairs force their way between individual water-soaked soil particles.

All of us trees need lots of water!

But water needs to get from our roots all the way up to our leaves, which could be as high as 100 feet above ground in a chestnut tree... and as high as 300 feet up in a redwood tree!

How will the water get there? We don't have a pump to push the water up ... Instead, several forces work together to carry water up without our help, so that we trees don't have to use any energy.

The American chestnut tree is rare in the eastern forests: few have survived. Someone found a single mature American chestnut tree in a Vermont forest . This was an important discovery. Scientists can now study why this single tree survived. If you think you found a rare American  chestnut tree,  or any tree depending where you are living,make sure you've identified the leaf correctly and can remember the tree's location.
 Then contact The American Chestnut Foundation

Here are a few little tales that I think are rather good. I know them all off by heart, for I have read them so many times to my children and my myriad of grand children.
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In a wide wood far over the sea lived a Bear, a Wolf, a Goat, a Parrot, an Owl, and many other birds and beasts.
      One day, as the Bear was going for a walk in the wood he came upon a man's boot that was lying at the foot of a tree.
     As he had never seen such a thing in all his life, and he had never set eyes upon a man, the bear did not know what this strange black thing could be.
e called to his friends to come and look at it, and they all sat round the boot in a ring and tried to guess what it might be.
     First the Wolf looked at it, and said, "I know what it is. It is theshell of a nut that the wind has blown from a tree. It must be from a cork-tree, for here is some cork at the bottom." And he showed them the sole of the boot.
    " Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" Cried the Owl, flapping his wings. "You are quite wrong! Quite wrong! Quite wrong! It is not a nut at all."
      "No it is not a nut," said the Parrot, pushing it over with her claw. "It is a nest. Look! Here is a deep hole at one end where the bird may put her eggs and keep her little ones safe. Yes, I am sure it is a nest."
      The Owl flapped his wings and cried again, Quite wrong! Quite wrong! Quite wrong! It is not a nest at all'."

      "No," said the Goat. "It is indeed not a nest. It is some kind of plant.
Here is a long root that has just been pulled from the ground. See! It is dark because it has just come out of the soil."

And he showed them the long black lace at the side of the boot.
    "Quite wrong! Quite wrong! Quite wrong!" cried the Owl again, flapping and croaking from a branch of his tree.
     "What is is then?" asked the others. "Can you tell us?"
      "Yes, I can tell you," said the Owl, "for I have been in a land where there are more of these black things than any of you can count. It is a man's boot."
      "A man's boot! cried the Bear and the Wolf, the Parrot and the Goat, all at the same time. "What is a man? And what does he do with a boot?"
       "A man is an animal with two legs," said the Owl. "He can eat and walk and talk and do many things that we cannot do, though he has no wings and he cannot fly.  But he is very clever. He makes black things like these, and wears them on his feet in the day time. He calls them boots."

      "Oh what a tale!" cried the Goat. "Who would want to wear boots when he might have a pair of hoofs."
     "Yes, it is a fine tale," said the Parrot. "I do not believe a word of it. How can  man be so clever if
he cannot fly?"
      "Of course it is only a tale," said the Bear. "Who would want boots to wear only in the day?"
"Not one of us believe you," said the Wolf, looking crossly at the Owl. "A clever animal would not make things like that to put on his feet. You have told a lie. You are not fit to live with us in the wood. We shall send you away."

    And they did, they drove the Owl out of the wood and wouldn't let him live there any more. Poor Owl. He had told the truth, but because the other creatures couldn't believe that anyone could be so stupid, that he must be lying, and they sent him away never to return.
 I think children that when you come across something you're not sure of, it is best to give the teller the benefit of the doubt. Who knows, without proof what or who is right or wrong.

Many but One

The waves of the sea are many,
The ocean is but one,
Its waters all day are flowing,
Its work is never done

The heavens are bright at midnight,
When the hours of day are done.
The stars in the sky are many,
but the sky is only one.

 Like the myriad waves in the ocean,
 Like stars after set of sun,
 The thoughts of a child are many;
But its heart is only one.

child, sea and sky

Revived by DMS for whom ever xxx
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Yet another chance to visit Amazon for your MP3 player.

 The Haunted House

Have you ever seen a haunted house? No? Well, follow me and I will take you on a guided t  Step carefully through the rusty gates, but be quiet as a mouse, you dont want to upset the residents. our...

Open the front door very slowly - otherwise it will creak and squeak, then everyone will know we are here. The hallway is full of ghosts wafting backwards and forwards, and look... some are walking through the doors when they are closed!

           There are ghastly ghouls lurking on the stairs, and imps and sprites are having a pillow fight. Look out - you will get covered with feathers!
mixing potions to make spider and slug pie. yuck!!!
           Push open the kitchen door and a wizard is making slug and spider pies. I don't think we will stay to sample those when they are ready to come out of the oven!
            Upstairs, skeletons are getting dressed and vampires are brushing their teeth. A suit of armour is about to get in the bath - and we won't stay until he goes rusty!

So there you have it, an ordinary day in a haunted house -
would you like to move in ?

A beautiful little story , but I do not have an author.
Thankyou whoever you are.  Diddily Dee Dot. xxxx


nchworm, Inchworm,
Measuring the marigolds,
 Seems to me you'd stop and see
How beautiful they are.
Inchworm, Inchworm,
Measuring the marigolds,
You and your arithmetic
Will probably go far.


Tweeny Bunting
Tweeny Bunting was a lost fairy.

There are many good things a fairy can do, and it is very, very sad when a fairy is lost.

Poor Tweeny Bunting was sitting on a mushroom. His two wings were drooping and his face was all ready to cry.

(One way to tell children from faries is sad but true, fairies don't know how to cry.)

It was an autumn day too, and winter was coming fast!

     Jack Frost came rushing over the hill. He had a red face, and was out of breath. When he saw the poor lost fairy, and he stopped short in surprise.

Tweeny Bunting couldn't tell Jack Frost anything about himself for he had lost his memory. And to every question Jack Frost asked, to try and help him, all the fairy could say was,
"I forget."

"Well I don't know what you are going to do, but I do know you can't stay here on your own all night, you are shivering with cold."

"Maybe I could come and live with you. Maybe you would let me help you." said Tweeny Bunting. "Surely I could do something."

"Hm, maybe you can at that," said Jack Frost. "I make pictures for little boys and girls. I make the pictures on their window panes at night when they are fast asleep."

"Oo! How lovely! Please, please teach me to help you, I really would like to make pictures for them too!" Tweeny Bunting replied.
Susy Snowflake
Jack Frost smiled at the little fairies bright eyes and big smile. "Come on then, we'll see what we can do."

So Jack Frost took Tweeny Bunting to his dear little house in the Land of Snows, and made him a cosy little jacket of wrens' feathers, and then showed him how to make the beautiful pictures for the window panes.

And now, every time Jack Frost goes to make pictures on the window panes, Tweeny Bunting goes with him.

They work together all night long. They paint lovely flowers, ferns and trees, rivers and lakes, even mountains.
They even try to paint fairies but Jack Frost can never do their faces just their wings.
And very pretty they look as well. especially if there is a red sky in the morning. This makes all the pictures especially pretty.

Of course the children see these beautiful pictures on their window panes, and mummy telly them, 'that Jack Frost has been around in the night to paint them specially for them'. Of course they don't know anything about Tweny Bunting, the lost little boy fairy.
But now, you have read this little story and now you know all abt Tweeny Bunting and the day he was lost and found all in one day.
Tweeny never did get his memory back, so he never did find a reason to leave Jack Frost. And I have it told to me first hand, that Tweeny and Jack remained together for many, many winters.
From the book
The Land were Tales are Told
by Stella Mead

This is one of Jack Frost and Tweeny Bunting's special paintings

Unfortunately the coming of the double glazing and the central heating in most homes has made Jack Frost and Tweeny Bunting almost redundant, maube one night Mummy will leave the heating off in the kitchen the next time Jack Frost is coming round and hopefully you will see his, ot Tweeny's beautiful pictures.
Charlie Chuckle did chuckle when he read this poem, for many times when they stopped at a certain town or city and the big top was about to go up! There would be bedlam when the wind was in an angry mood and insisted on trying to blow the Circus Tent down, whilst the men were trying to erect it. This little poem is about the day the wind woke up in a very angry mood...

The sun one morning rose to find the wind was fiercely blowing;
"He is out of sorts today," he said "His temper it is showing.
When I am angry, I hide my face behind a grey cloud curtain,
But Brother Wind, when he's put out will fret and fume for certain."

The Wind, who heard, then shook himself, and with a rush and bluster,
He tore away o'er field and town in such a state of fluster!
A chimney pot was in his path so down he quickly hurled it;
A slate was loose on a high Church roof, off with a gust he whirled it!

He shook from the hedge the tender buds, and nipped the early flowers;
He tugged at deeply rooted trees, and threw down garden bowers.
He hurried along a gentle brook then broke its bridge to splinters;
And shattered the sails of our old windmill he'd turned for many winters.

Then down in the town, through alley and court, with boisterous rush he ventured;
He found every crevice and crack and through the quickly entered.
He sent the children's hats and caps along the streets a flying;
And whisked the clothes from off the lines, where they were hung a-drying!

Where'er he went he havoc made with blast and hurry scurry;
He tossed, and blew, and banged until, he got in such a flurry
That all his strength at last was spent, then, he grew glum and dreary,
So, with a moan, and woeful groan, he slunk away quite weary.

The sun just then was going to rest in the midst of glory sinking;
"O Wind," said he, "Please listen to me, for today I've been a thinking.
When next your vexed, I'll brightly beam that you may cease repining,
When next I'm vexed please blow away the clouds that hide my shining."

The sun and wind then both agreed that they would work together,
And if they keep their promise we shall have sweet summer weather

Wasn't that fantastic kids,

It was written by a lady called Alice M Brown an awful long time ago,
 before even Diddilydeedot was born.

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