THE SHADOW SHOW Trains with wheels and clouds of smoke,Funny crowds of dodging folk,Trams that run along with sparks,Sofa games and pillow larks,Grubs and ponies, worms and tigers,Sparrows on the tree,Oh!What a lot of lots of thingsFor little boys to see! Aeroplanes and paper darts,Woodmen driving broken carts,Minahs on the chimney tops,Swallows dodging near the shops,Barking pups that make the postmanFall down off his bike;Oh!What a lot of lots of thingsFor little boys to like! Great big pictures in big books,Pastry from the pastrycook's,Circuses and Mentone sand,Musics of the soldier band,Chocolates wrapped in silver paperSo they won't get wet;Oh!What a lot of lots of thingsFor little boys to get! WHISPER!Tip-toe, Tip-toe, hush the noise,There's a wide-eye-whisper tune;Micky's making songs for boys;Sleepy after the afternoon. THE SOLDIER BAND My mother and my father are both having tea to drink;Inside the pastry shop they saw me last.They don't know where I've got to, for I've runned from where they think;I heard the soldier band go marching past. Oh, tiddley—om—ti—pomp they go! Stamp soldier, stamp!A cab-horse jumped into the air and bumped against a lamp.Ta—rah—ra—rah, the trumpets go telling the boys to come,And always and all the time, bang goes the drum. Look at their lovely leather legs! The big brass things they blow!I don't care where I walk or who I meet,I'm following the band away to where the musics grow,I'm hitting my boots heavy on the street. For I must find the music man that lets them play so loud,And find the funny place where soldiers goTo fill their trumpets with the noise they blow among the crowd—It's not a tea and pastry shop I know. WHISPER!Anyone seen Micky here?Him that lives above the ceiling.Sometimes far and sometimes near,Boys have heard his little squealing. Oh, I must find the music place, and stamp along the track,And try to let no trams run over me;If I'm a long, long way from home, the band will play me back,That's if I'm good and never spill my tea. When I grow up a soldier man, I'll buy a pole to wag,With silver top and tassels red and blue;I'll tell my little brother to be carrying the flag,While I call out and tell him how to do. I don't know where my father is, I've left him in a shop,And if I'm lost there's bound to be a noise;If fathers want their children, they should make the policeman stopThe music of the bands that steal the boys. Oh, tiddley—om—ti—pomp they go! Stamp, soldier, stamp!A captain with a silver sword is marching them to camp.Ta—rah—ra—rah, the trumpets go, telling the boys to come,And always and all the time, bang goes the drum. WHISPER!Hush, you, hush! I heard a patterOn the 'randah, in the wet!Now 'n again, we've heard him chatter,But we've never seen him yet. INVALID Raid, raid, go away,Dote cub back udtil I say,That wote be for beddy a day. Ad wot's the good of sudlight, dow?When I ab kept id bed,Ad rubbed ad poultised for to cureThe cold that's id be head? I've beed out od the kitched lawd,With dothig od be feet,Ad subthig's coffig id be deckAd all be head's a heat. Tell Bay to dot bake such a doise;Dote rud the cart so hard!For tissudt fair, just wud of usTo rud arowd the yard. Ad wed I try to say a tale,Or sig a little sog,The coffig cubs idtoo be deckAd tickles dredful strog. Ad wed is father cubbig obe?He'd dot be log he said—If this is jist a cold it bustBe awful to be dead! Oh what a log, log day it is!Ibe tired of blocks ad books;I've cowted all the ceilig lides,I've thought of sheep ad chooks. I've drawd a bad's face with a bo,I've drawed a pipe to sboke;Just wed I thought I was asleepI wedt ad thought I woke! WHISPER...!