The Poetry Corner

Katydids And The Moon

By Madison Julius Cawein

I. Summer evenings, when it's warm, In the yard we sit and swing: And it's better than a farm, Watching how the fireflies swarm, Listening to the crickets sing, And the katydids that cry, "Katy did n't! Katy did!" In the trees and flowers hid. So I ask my father, "Why? What's the thing she did n't do?" For he told me that he knew: "Katy did n't like to worry; But she did so like to talk; Gossip of herself and talk; Katy did n't like to hurry; But she did so like to walk; Saunter by herself and walk. How is that now for a story?" II. And one night when it was fine, And the moon peeped through the trees; And the scented jessamine vine Swung its blossoms in the breeze, Full of sleeping honeybees: "That's Old Sister Moon," he said. "She's a perfect simpleton; Scared to death of Old Man Sun: All day long she hides her head." And I asked my father why, And he made me this reply: "Sister Moon's old eyes are weary; Her old eyes are very weak; Poor and old and worn and weak: And the old Sun, with his cheery Looks, just makes them leak and leak, Like an old can leak and leak. That's the reason why, my dearie."