At the suggestion of a dear friend, I bought this book of poems recently called Hurry, Hurry Mary Dear by N. M. Bodecker, and boy oh boy is it full of silliness. She suggested the book to us because of the first poem: Hurry Hurry Mary Dear. I'm sure you'll see why.
Hurry Hurry Mary Dear
Hurry, hurry, Mary dear,
fall is over, winter's here.
Not a moment to be lost,
in a minute, we get frost.
In an hour we get snow!
Drifts like houses! Ten Below!
Pick the apples, dill the pickles,
chop down trees for wooden nickles.
Dig the turnips, split the peas,
cook molasses, curdle cheese.
Churn the butter, smoke the hams,
can tomatoes, put up jams.
Stack the stove wood, string the beans,
up the storms and down the screens.
Pull the curtains, close the shutters.
Dreadfully the wild wind mutters.
Oil the snowshoes, stoke the fires.
Soon the roads are hopeless mires.
Mend the mittens, knit the sweaters,
bring my glasses, mail my letters.
Toast the muffins, brew the tea,
hot and sweet and good for me.
Bake me doughnuts, plain and frosted...
What, my dear? You feel exhausted?
Yes, these winters are severe!
Hurry, hurry, Mary dear.