Poetry
The Fly in Church
MY Aunties on each side of me are kneeling in a line ; I wonder if their hassocks are as full of pins as mine ?
I think they must have asked the hens,to teach them how to perch ; I'd like to rub my knees, but that's called fidgeting in Church.
I found a fly in Church to-day—a fly who'd hurt his wing ; It happened just as everyone was standing up to sing There's a Friend for little children up above the bright blue sky "— I might have been so good if they had let inc keep that fly.
I thought of such a lovely game—I didn't fidget then The fly must walk across my book before I counted ten ; But just as he was nearly there the Man said, " Let us pray," And Aunties shook their heads at me, nail brushed my fly away.
The pew is very dark and high, and I am very small, And Aunties say it's wrong in Church to look about at all. I think the window's open where the glass is painted red, For I can feel a scrap of sky that's shining on my head.
Oh, Friend for little children, You were once as small as me, You know how very, very dull a child in Church can be, And if You're hiding just above that tiny patch of sky Be sorry for a little boy- - and send another fly !
JOCELYN C. LEA.
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