A .CHILD'S POEM ON CATS.
[TO TIM EDITOR OF THE " SPECTATOR."1
SIR,—My long experience as a publisher inclines me -to rate rather highly the enclosed effort of a little nephew of mine, John Raalewood by name, aged nine last birthday. Al Bridgnorth Grammar School his class was instructed to write a poem on "Cats," and the -following was his absolutely unaided production. It may interest some of your readers.—]
am, Sir, Sze., MARTIN S. SICEFFLNGTON.
6 Leinster Mansions, Longhand Gardens, Finchley Road, N.W.
CATS.
"Wild cats are bad cats, They hunt in the trees, They wait for some prey, And suddenly seize A nice fat young rabbit Or fluttering owl Or poor little duckling Or farmer's best fowl.
No one can tell How much food they destroy, Which would give a good meal For a girl or a boy.
House cats are good cats, They clean their own fur, And if you caress them They gently will purr. They rid you of rats, And also of mice, And a- companion They're awfully nice. And now I have told you, As well -as I can, A cat is a foe Or a friend to a man.'
Joan HASLNWOOD (aged 9).
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