Far depths beneath the earth and sky
In caverns dark and deep
Lay fair Calysta bound in chains
Within the dragon’s keep.

Kybald the dragon kept his watch
As nights and days drew past,
And fair Calysta prayed that soon
Her love would come at last.

Sir Randall dwelt in distant lands,
His journey long and hard;
But day by day he nearer drew
To slay the dragon guard.

Calysta wept by night and day
Her fetters flowed with tears.
They rusted ’til they fell apart;
Still her love did not appear.

So fair Calysta, giving up
Her hopes of chivalry,
Slipped cautiously between the legs
Of Kybald fast asleep.

She felt the piercing eye
Of Kybald watching every step;
Calysta heaved a sigh.

“So Randall does not love you?” asked
The dragon of the maid.
“I fear he does not,” she replied;
“He came not to my aid.”

“But you: you have not eaten me,”
Calysta said in scorn.
“Perhaps you’re no more brave than he
Or any man ’twas born!”

Then Kybald huffed a gruff reply
But had no time for more,
For Randall burst in, grabbed the maid,
And bolted for the door.

Not many days since their escape,
Calysta heard a sound.
She watched as Kybald neared their house;
Sir Randall turned around.

Sir Randall scarce had drawn his sword
When Kybald smote him down;
Then Kybald at Calysta’s feet
Knelt there and kissed her gown.

Calysta took his scaly paw
Into her milk-white hand
And promised everlasting love
And all of Randall’s land.

So Kybald and Calysta went
To live as fate had planned,
And both along the dusky shore
Went walking hand in hand.

Come be my playmate.
Come play my game.
I’ll show you my playhouse,
If you’ll show me yours.
Come be my playmate.
Come play my game.
You can be my Teddy Bear;
I’ll be your Raggedy Ann.
Come be my playmate.
Come play my game.
We could build a world together.
We’ll teach each other to fly.
Come be my playmate.
Come play my game.
You can tear down my dollhouse
If you build it back again.
Come be my playmate.
Come play my game.
Let’s visit the fairies together.
Let’s fight the dragons together.
Come be my playmate.
Come play my game.
“Simon Says” or “Mother, May I”
Was never as good as this.
Come be my playmate.
Come play my game.
Let’s play Hopscotch
Holding hands.

I don’t want life
To rain on me;
I don’t like it
In my eyes, you see.
I don’t want life
To rain on me,
So I’m lookin’ for a place to be,
Where the rain can’t get to me.

Standin’ down at
The bottom of the sea,
Where there’s no way
It can rain on me.
I don’t like it
In my eyes, you see.
So I’m standin’ at the bottom of the sea,
Where the rain can’t get to me.

Life makes a mockery
Of all my poetry.
It laughs
At the words which try to express
The feeling that words can never trap.
The wild birds of emotion
Perch tentatively in the souls of men,
Until the cat-like paragraphs
Stalk them and pounce
As the birds, startled, take flight;
And the cats are left
Holding only a few tail feathers,
Somehow only mildly reminiscent
Of the feelings
Which, undaunted, light anew
In our hearts.
The cat slinks sullenly away,
Its energy spent in vain.