But, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all, Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!”
King John was not a good man— Next morning when the sun Rose up to tell a waiting world That Christmas had begun, And people seized their stockings, And opened them with glee, And crackers, toys and games appeared, And lips with sticky sweets were smeared, King John said grimly: “As I feared, Nothing again for me!” “I did want crackers, And I did want candy; I know a box of chocolates Would come in handy; I do love oranges, I did want nuts. I haven’t got a pocket-knife— Not one that cuts. And, oh! if Father Christmas had loved me at all, He would have brought a big, red, india-rubber ball!” King John stood by the window, And frowned to see below The happy bands of boys and girls All playing in the snow. A while he stood there watching, And envying them all… When through the window big and red There hurtled by his royal head, And bounced and fell upon the bed, An india-rubber ball! AND, OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS, MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL FOR BRINGING HIM A BIG, RED, INDIA-RUBBER BALL!
Busy
I think I am a Muffin Man. I haven’t got a bell, I haven’t got the muffin things that muffin people sell.
Perhaps I am a Postman. No, I think I am a Tram. I’m feeling rather funny and I don’t know what I am—
