Father is quite the greatest poet That ever lived anywhere. You say you're going to write great music-- I chose that first: it's unfair. Besides, now I can't be the greatest painter and do Christ and angels, or lovely pears and apples and grapes on a green dish, or storms at sea, or anything lovely, Because that's been taken by Claire. It's stupid to be an engine-driver, And soldiers are horrible men. I won't be a tailor, I won't be a sailor, And gardener's taken by Ben. It's unfair if you say that you'll write great music, you horrid, you unkind (I simply loathe you, though you are my sister), you beast, cad, coward, cheat, bully, liar! Well? Say what's left for me then! But _we_ won't go to your ugly music. (Listen!) Ben will garden and dig, And Claire will finish her wondrous pictures All flaming and splendid and big. And I'll be a perfectly marvellous carpenter, and I'll make cupboards and benches and tables and ... and baths, and nice wooden boxes for studs and money, And you'll be jealous, you pig! I'D LOVE TO BE A FAIRY'S CHILD Children born of fairy stock Never need for shirt or frock, Never want for food or fire, Always get their heart's desire: Jingle pockets full of gold, Marry when they're seven years old. Every fairy child may keep Two strong ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild-- I'd love to be a Fairy's child. THE NEXT WAR