human
Can you continue this poem for me?
  This is Fairy, bright as Spring,
Loving every living thing
With a love so sweet and true,
That all creatures love her too!
This is Fairy, bright as Spring,
This is Fairy, wondrous wise,
Sunshine laughing in her eyes,
Who will prattle on for hours
To the brooks and trees and flowers,
To the birds and butterflies,
To all creatures 'neath the skies,
Understanding all they say
In a curious sort of way!
This is Fairy, wondrous wise,
Never moping, never dull,
For her mind is amply stored
assistant
Sure, a continuation for this poem could be:
  With an overflowing hoard
Of the tales of fairy times,
And of quaint old nursery rhymes,
So that she can always find
Good companions when inclined!
This is a rhyme
Of ancient time
Of a certain old woman who lived in a shoe,
And had so many children she didn't know what to do:
Fairy knows her, and says it's true.
This is the shoe.
And this is the dame
Without a name,
These are the children, quite a score--
Perhaps one less, perhaps one more--
Who worried the dame without a name,
This is the broth so weak and thin,
With never a bit of bread therein,
Made for the children, quite a score--
Perhaps one less, perhaps one more--
Who worried the dame without a name,
This is the stick so long and thick,
That followed the broth so weak and thin,
With never a bit of bread therein,
Made for the children, quite a score--
Perhaps one less, perhaps one more--
Who worried the dame without a name,
This is the bed within the shoe,
That the children got in, two by two,
Urged by the stick so long and thick,
That followed the broth so weak and thin,
With never a bit of bread therein,
Made for the children, quite a score--
Perhaps one less, perhaps one more--
Who worried the dame without a name,
And this is the end of a tale that is true,
Of a wonderful bed in a wonderful shoe,
That the children got in, two by two,
Urged by the stick so long and thick,
That followed the broth so weak and thin,
With never a bit of bread therein,
Made for the children, quite a score--
Perhaps one less, perhaps one more--
Who worried the dame without a name,
These are some of FAIRY'S FRIENDS.
This is little Miss Bo-Peep,
She who often lost her sheep,
Went home weeping sore, and found
All her flock there safe and sound!
This is little Miss Bo-Peep--
This is Jack, and this is Jill,
Who went forth their pail to fill,
And came tumbling down the hill!
Fairy says they do it still,
This strange couple--Jack and Jill--
This is lazy young Boy-Blue,
Found him lying fast asleep,
Heedless of his cows and sheep!
This is lazy young Boy-Blue--
This is wonderful Dame Hubbard--
Name that always rhymes with cupboard--
Ever going out to buy
Something for her dog so sly,
Who would oft her patience try!
This is wonderful Dame Hubbard--
Every day he meets a pie-man;
Every day, so runs the tale,
He will try to catch a whale,
Fishing in his mother's pail!
This is Puss-in-Boots, so clever,
In all dangers ready ever,
In his labours failing never:
Puss-in-Boots, who has a name
Noted on the rolls of Fame!
This is Puss-in-Boots, so clever--
This is Giant-killing Jack,
With his bugle on his back,
With his sword so keen and bright,
Ready ever foes to smite!
This is Giant-killing Jack--
This, too, is that other Jack--
He who, fearless of attack,
Dared the magic stalk to climb,
Facing giants many a time!
This is Master Bean-stalk Jack--
This is just a little gnome,
One of those that make their home
In the mines beneath the ground
Where the precious gold is found!
This is just a little gnome--
Sitting crying in a corner;
Many stop and ask him why,
And to all he makes reply,
"'Cause no plums are in the pie!"
This is selfish Johnnie Horner--
This is Cinderella sweet,
With her slippers on her feet:
Cinderella at the ball,
Cinderella loved by all!
This is Cinderella sweet--
This is where the story ends
Of Miss Fairy's many friends:
Others--fairies, gnomes, and elves--
You can think of for yourselves!
This is where the story ends
Fairy, when she was not dreaming,
Fairy, when she was not scheming
Wondrous tales of gnome and elf,
Oft drew pictures for herself,
Fanciful as they could be:
Two are here for you to see.
This is Peace: a little maiden
Who has gleaned all through the day,
Going home with arms well laden,
When the sunlight fades away.
This is War: a baby brother
Threatened by a wasp that stings,
Getting ready soon to smother
That fierce yellow thing with wings.
Fairy fell asleep one day
With her album in her hand,
And she dreamt she lost her way
On the edge of Fairyland.
There she met a little man.
Quaintly dressed, with cap and bells:
"Read," he said, "Miss, if you can,
All the words the sign-post tells.
"Though your album you may fill
With our portraits, understand
Hundreds more await you still
Here in wondrous Fairyland."