THE OAK IN SPRING

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 158, 24 September 1927, Page 27 (Supplement)

THE OAK IN SPRING

The old oak tree in my garden has awakened from its winter sleep, and the pale green leaves, looking more vivid under the dull sky, are welcoming the flowers and the songs of birds. As the winter waned and the tree stood dim and dreamlike in the August haze, I watched the tiny green buds slowly forming, then one or two burst into leaf. Soon the tree was cloaked in a mantle of green, while birds fluttered in the branches keeping their traditions of the safety of nests. Now the tree is swaying in the wind, and, here and there, among the branches, the sunshine falls like a single golden leaf that flickers down, vanishing into the shade below. Evening is coming on. and the tree stands alone with the solitudes of the earth and sky. —MARION MEAD (aged 14). LITTLE JACK WISTER There was a little boy And his name was Jack Wister. And Jack simply never Would play with his sister. Jack Wister was seven And soon would be more. But Mary Lou Wister Had barely reached four. When they went to the seaside To play by the sea, Said Jack, “Mary Lou, Don’t you tag after me.”

He dug a deep well And he built a high wall, But he said, “Mary Lou, You can’t play—you’re too small. So poor Mary Lou On a rock on the shore Just sat still and tried To be older than four. And when she looked down She perceived with a shock That the tide had come in And surrounded her rock. It was time to go home Before Jack ever missed her . . . What a sight met his eyes When he looked for his sister! Of the rock he could see Not the tiniest speck. And the waves were almost Up to Mary Lou’s neck. “Stand still,” shouted Jack, “And I’ll bring you ashore, And I never will say You can’t play any more.”