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Poem by Madison Julius Cawein

Katydids and the Moon


Summer evenings, when it's warm,
In the yard we sit and swing:
And it's better than a farm,
Watching how the fireflies swarm,
Listening to the crickets sing,
And the katydids that cry,
"Katy did n't! Katy did!"
In the trees and flowers hid.
So I ask my father, "Why?
What's the thing she did n't do?"
For he told me that he knew:
"Katy did n't like to worry;
But she did so like to talk;
Gossip of herself and talk;
Katy did n't like to hurry;
But she did so like to walk;
Saunter by herself and walk.
How is that now for a story?"


And one night when it was fine,
And the moon peeped through the trees;
And the scented jessamine vine
Swung its blossoms in the breeze,
Full of sleeping honeybees:
"That's Old Sister Moon," he said.
"She's a perfect simpleton;
Scared to death of Old Man Sun:
All day long she hides her head."
And I asked my father why,
And he made me this reply:
"Sister Moon's old eyes are weary;
Her old eyes are very weak;
Poor and old and worn and weak:
And the old Sun, with his cheery
Looks, just makes them leak and leak,
Like an old can leak and leak.
That's the reason why, my dearie."

Madison Julius Cawein

Madison Julius Cawein's other poems:
  1. A Song for Yule
  2. The Sea Faery
  3. The Raid
  4. Dithyrambics
  5. High on a Hill

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