human
Can you write me a poem about geese in the style of R. M. (Ronald Macmillan) Algie?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about geese in the style of R. M. (Ronald Macmillan) Algie:
  Jim was a boy who was fond of clowns,
And thought they were excellent fun;
He talked so much of them and their ways,
That one night he dreamed he was one.
He dreamed he was feeding five fat geese
On boiled slate-pencils and rice:
He said it was wholesome food for geese,
But they said, "More wholesome than nice."
He dreamed that he set two geese to dance,
While he took a fiddle and played.
He said, "You look pretty and gay, my dears."
"We feel very tired," they said.
"What, tired!" he said, "with that nice pink sash,
"And that waistcoat of vivid blue?"
Then he tried to teach them the way to sing--
A thing geese never can do.
He made them try to stand on their heads
And wave their feet in the air,
Although they said the pain in their necks
Was more than a goose could bear.
He said that it didn't hurt his back--
He liked it, for his part;
And all the geese declared he had
A most unfeeling heart.
He knocked the bottom out of the pot
That had held the pencil-stew,
And held it in the air while five
Reluctant geese jumped through.
They said they burned their wings and feet
With the sides of the smoking pot.
He laughed, "Oh, nonsense! Now, my dears,
"We'll try something really hot."
So he made a terrified goose jump through
A hoop all blazing alight,
While all the rest of the geese stood round
And screamed with all their might.
And he was just about to try
To teach them how to swim,
When all the geese made up their minds
They'd have some games with him.
They put him on a spit, to roast
Before a blazing fire;
And one fat goose with bellows blew,
To make the flame go higher.
He woke up shrieking with fear and pain,
And, as he cuddled down
Between the sheets, he vowed he'd never
Become a cruel clown.
Has anyone heard of the wonderful race
Of the frogs and the greyhounds, the rabbits and cats?
They rode it on bicycles, sixteen in all,
And the umpires were pugs, with cigars and high hats.
And the number of each kind of racer was four--
Four frogs dressed in green, four rabbits in brown,
Four greyhounds well brushed and with spotless shirt-fronts,
The four solemn puggies inspected them all
And weighed them as gravely as if they were dead.
"The rabbits must carry the dinners for all;
It's a fair handicap, as they're quickest," they said.
(I've heard that the rabbits were angry at this;
And I think that it's true, for they never were seen
Any more by the umpires, although the cats say
They frequently meet them at night on the green.)
And now they are ready, and "Go!" cried the first
Of the four solemn pugs as he lit his cigar.
"I shall act for the rabbits; you choose from the rest,
And carefully watch who first passes the bar."
"The cats shall be mine," says the fourth with a wag
Of his tightly curled tail as he sat on the grass.
"I speak for the frogs," said the third, "for I'm sure
They're cunning enough to let nobody pass."
"So the greyhounds are mine, then," says pug Number Two,
And he put his blue spectacles on, and he sighed,
"I know they'll not win, though they'll all do their best,
For nobody ever has taught them to ride."
The frogs came up first, with their legs straddled wide
On the bicycle handles, their arms folded tight;
Their umpire, the third little pug, gave a shout,
And pushed his hat back in his joy at the sight.
Then up came the greyhounds, and pug Number Two,
Though dissatisfied, felt that he could not ask more.
"But where are the rabbits?" said One with a groan.
With the others, but stayed to catch mice and to play;
And the rabbits rode off with the food to the woods,
So nobody got any dinner that day.