WILKINSON, H.E.


Topsy-turvy Land

The people walk upon their heads,
The sea is made of sand,
The children go to school by night,
In Topsy-Turvy Land.

The front-door step is at the back,
You're walking when you stand,
You wear your hat upon your feet,
In Topsy-Turvy Land.

And 'buses on the sea you'll meet,
While pleasure boats are planned
To travel up and down the streets
Of Topsy-Turvy Land.

You pay for what you never get,
I think it must be grand,
For when you go you're coming back,
In Topsy-Turvy Land.

Bread

Farmer, is the harvest ready

For we must have bread?”

“Go and look at all my fields,”

Is what the farmer said.

So we ran and saw the wheat

Standing straight and tall.

“There's your bread,” the farmer said,

“Have no fear at all.”

“Miller, is the flour ready

For we must have bread?”

“Go and look in all my sacks,”

Is what the miller said.

So we ran and saw the flour,

Soft and white as snow.

“There's your flour,” the miller said,

As we turned to go.

“Mother, is the oven ready

For we must have bread?”

“Go and open wide the door,”

Is what our mother said.

So we ran and saw the loaves

Crisp and brown to see.

“There's your bread,” our mother said,

“Ready for your tea.”