Tiger Tales #115 - The Runaway Horses From Giantland

"The Runaway Horses From Giantland"
By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Author of Ozoplaning with the Wizard of Oz, The Wish Express, "King, King! Double King!", etc.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 14, 1917.

Of course you know - in Giantland
Things are tremendous BIG -
And one day Carrottop the Grand
Went driving in his gig.
The horses, high as any tower,
Went charging through the town,
For every day at just this hour
To call on Treebell Brown
Went Carrottop, and on a chair
As mammoth as a hill
He'd sit and praise her eyes and hair
And talk with wit and skill.
But on this day I tell you of
A giant flower pot
Fell from a balcony above
- Of course, the horses got
Excited - for turned upside down
Upon their heads it STUCK,
And off they dashed through Giant Town
As if by lightning struck.
Poor Carrottop sawed on the reins
And bounced about most cruelly;
He might have saved himself the pains,
Ne'er were steeds more unruly.
On - ON they rushed and left at last
His loved Giantland,
And into Mortal countries passed,
A whirl of dust and sand!
The earth shook 'neath those awful thuds,
And how the humans flew -
The lakes and brooks were churned to suds
Each place the gig passed through.
"An earthquake!" shrieked the folks - and fled.
"A cyclone! An eclipse!"
They hid themselves beneath the bed,
And many a building rips
From its foundations. Carrottop
At last is badly thrown -
But still the horses will not stop,
And thunder on alone.
The giant rises up with many sighs
And hies him back,
And in a roaring rage he cries
He'll beat them blue and black.
But now the flower pot - it snapped.
The horses, like the wind,
Turned homeward - in remorse quite wrapt,
But left the gig behind,
And there in Perryville it stands
Unto this very day,
A giant curiosity for all
Who pass that way!

THE FORGETFUL POET

By Ruth Plumly Thompson
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, May 4, 1919.

The Forgetful Poet and His Riddles

The dear fellow has spring fever and says he really has not time to write many verses or puzzles - he has so many more important things to do. Going to sleep, for instance, and swinging in his new swing and picking daisies.

Hah-hoh-hum, he made me yawn, please excuse me! He says that the answers to his riddles two Sundays ago were grip - trip - that - pour and knows. I think it was rather a mixed poem, do not you?

He has another one for you. Here it is:

Three flowers, often used for girls' names.

A wild animal and a girl's name will give a flower.

Something white and wintry, and the tiniest portion of water will give another flower.

"Hah-hoh-hum!" (I wish he would stop yawning.)

An adjective describing little girls and a vegetable will give another.

Besides all this he wants to know when a bow is not a bow? And when is it?

He has left some words out of his verse, as usual, and from the way they sound I am afraid he was asleep when he wrote them. Oh, well!

Two birds sat singing in a tree
About the fair spring weather,
And on my word! It seemed to me
They were in finest ______.

I'd like to sing myself, but for
Your sake I will refrain,
As I never like to cause my friends
Unnecessary ______!

[Answers next time.]

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