human
Can you write me a poem about robin, summer and village in the style of Norman Duncan?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about robin, summer and village in the style of Norman Duncan:
  My brother Ben has gone to sea. He has gone in a big Ship. Mother
See, Charles, how little Robin lies:
The film is on his gentle eyes;
His pretty beak is parted wide,
And blood is flowing from his side.
And Willy, when from school he comes,
Will run and get some little crumbs,
And fling them round, and wait to see
Robin hop lightly from the tree,
To pick the crumbs up, one by one,
And sing and chirp, when he has done;--
Then when I show him Robin dead,
How many bitter tears he'll shed!
This little girl is having a ride. She has a nice carriage, and a
Come, little brother, come to me;
I'll teach you soon your A, B, C.
You're three years old; you must, indeed,
Begin at once to learn to read.
Be careful now, don't tear the book,
And where I point there you must look.
That's A, that's B, and that is C;
Now say them plainly after me.
That's very well! How very nice!
You'll learn your letters in a trice.
And then you'll quickly learn to spell,
And soon, I hope, read very well.
Baby, baby,
Ope your eye,
For the sun
Is in the sky;
And he's peeping once again,
Through the frosty window pane.
Little baby, do not keep
Any longer fast asleep.
There, now, sit in mother's lap,
That she may untie your cap;
For the little strings have got
Twisted into such a knot!
One pleasant summer morning
A little boy was seen
Beneath a spreading oak tree
Upon a village green.
And to a merry squirrel
The child was heard to say--
You always are at play?"
"I laid up nuts, last autumn,
So I can frolic now,"
Replied the merry squirrel,
And frisked along the bough.
"And you, my little school-boy,
Must study all you can,
And lay up stores of knowledge,
To use when you're a man."
Near by a bird was stopping
To rest its pretty wing--
"Pray, tell me," said the youngster,
"Who taught you how to sing?"
"I never had a master,"
The little bird replied;
"But when my mate was sitting,
To comfort her I tried;
"And if you like my singing,
Its secret I will tell--
All that we do for love, sir,
We surely shall do well."
And now, dear little children,
If you open wide your eyes,
You will see the pretty lessons
In creatures, birds, and skies.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.
"Mother, I am so hungry," said Charley Gray, as he returned from
Here is a poor boy; he is going to have a wash at the pump. His
clean.
I love to hear the little birds
That carol on the trees;
I love the gentle murmuring stream,
I love the evening breeze.
I love to think of Him who made
These pleasant things for me;
Who gave me life, and health, and strength,
And eyes, that I might see.
I love the holy Sabbath-day,
So peaceful, calm, and still;
And O! I love to go to church,
And learn my Maker's will.