Custard the Dragon had big sharp teeth, And spikes on top of it and spikes underneath. Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose, And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes. Let's get to know the poems in Baby Shakespare The train is a dragon that roars through the dark, He wriggles his tail as he sends out a spark. He pierces the night with his one yellow eye, And all the earth trembles as he rushes by. I know of a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk roses and with eglantine, There sleeps Titania, sometime of the night, Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight. It's the fall, the unfallen apples Hold their brightness A little longer into the blue air, hold the idea That they can be brighter. The cat went here and there And the moon spun 'round like a top, And the nearest kin of the moon, The creeping cat looked up. My feet took a walk in the heavenly grass, All day while the sky shone clear as glass. My feet took a walk in the heavenly grass, All night while the lonesome stars rolled past. Last night, when the yellow moon Of November broke through the last line Of turbulent midwestern clouds, A lone frog, the same one Who probably announced the spring floods, Attempted to sing. Now, let's continue the poems in Baby Shakespare. Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower, But every so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, So Eden sank to grief. So dawn goes down to day, Nothing Gold Can Stay. Snow is a mind Falling, a continuous breath Of climbs, loops, spirals, Dips into the earth Like white fireflies Wanting to land, finding A wind between houses, Diving like moths Into their own light So that one wonders If snow is a wing's Long memory across winter. Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bow, And stands about the woodland ride, Wearing white for Easter tide. One day, in the primeival wood, A calf walked home, as good calves should, But made a trail all bent askew, A crooked trail, as all calves do. I've watched you now, a full half hour Self-poised upon that yellow flower; And, little butterfly, indeed, I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless!---not frozen seas More motionless, but then. What joy awaits you when the breeze Hath found you out in the trees And calls you forth again! I love to see the big white moon, A shining in the sky, I love to see the little stars And shadow clouds go by. I love the raindrops falling On my rooftop in the night. I love the soft wind sighing Before the dawn's gray light. Thst's all the poems in Baby Shakespeare
