Clinton Scollard (Клинтон Сколлард)

Fraidie-Cat

I shan’t tell you what’s his name:
When we want to play a game,
Always thinks that he’ll be hurt,
Soil his jacket in the dirt,
Tear his trousers, spoil his hat,—
Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat!

Nothing of the boy in him!
“Dasn’t” try to learn to swim;
Says a cow’ll hook; if she
Looks at him he’ll climb a tree;
“Scart” to death at bee or bat,—
Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat!

Claims there’re ghosts all snowy white
Wandering around at night
In the attic; wouldn’t go
There for anything, I know;
B’lieve he’d run if you said “Scat!”
Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat!

Clinton Scollard’s other poems:

  1. The Wind and the Sea
  2. The Cripple
  3. The Hill of Maeve
  4. Mist at Sea
  5. Night Song by the Sea

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