Happy Homepage
Akira Avenue
Angels A to Z
Ayliyah Avenue
Brody Close
Bruno's Bedtime
Choocho Station
Comfort Valley
Corey's Castle
Dinah's Drive
Dino's Burger.
Dionne Bridge
Disney Drive
Donna's Diner
Fairy Square
Ffordd Llyfr
Ha-Ha Arcade
Happy Mansions
Jaimie's Zoo
J.J's Junction
Jo's Galleon
K. K's Square
Kid's House
Kid's Treasury
Kindness Street
King P. Palace
Knock Meadow
Lily's Yard
Monty's Circus
Minnie Marsh
Molly Melody
Noah's Ark
Nonsense Avenue
Nursery Land
Odhran's Tale
Penguin Avenue
Pleasure Land
Pooh's Park
Princess Way
Prudence Close
Prince's Alley
Queen P Palace
Rabbit's Warren
Sage Rise
Scotch Corner
Scrap City
Spiggy Square
Studio Ghibli
Sunday School
Tilly Teapot
Toby Bucket
Unicorn Meadow
Merry - Land
Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere
Kindness Street
"Wonderful Rhymes for the Children of the World"

This is very NEW because Diddily just wrote it!A Bumble Bee

 Hopscotch!!"WHERE SHALL WE GO?"

'Where shall we go today, and what shall we play?
Maybe some hopscotch! what about Simon says.
"I know ," said Mr Brumble Bee, "Let's play I Spy!
And I give you my word I won't take to the sky."
Could this be Oberon and Titania?

I went off to Fairy Land and there I did espy

Very many fairies fair, flying graceful - flying high.
Twas then I saw Oberon,  dressed in his autumn green.
And guess who stood beside him? Yes, Titania his Queen.

ParadiseI believe Molly went to paradise, there she met a prince
He greeted her with comforts, milk chocolate, coated quince.
Both rode on a Persian horse and through the air took flight,
I hear she's going back there, when next the stars shine bright.

And now we must away to bed, but first 'tis supper time,
We'll eat sweet honey on softest bread and drink the sparkling wine.
Snuggle down in quilts of fluffy down, having said a prayer or two,
And hope the Lord will keep us safe, till morning comes anew.

Written by Dorothy Milnes-Simm©


London Bridge is Falling Down

London Bridge is broken down, dance over my Ladye Lee.
London Bridge is broken down with a gay ladye.
How shall we build it up again ? Dance over my Ladye Lee.
How shall we build it up again  with a gay Ladye ?

Silver and Gold will be stole away, dance over my Ladye Lee ;
Silver and gold will be stole away, with a gay Ladye.
Iron and steel will bend and bow, dance over my Ladye Lee;
Iron and steel will bend and bow with a gay Ladye.

Wood and clay will wash away, dance over my Ladye Lee;
Wood and clay will wash away with a gay Ladye.
Build it up with stone as stronge, dance over my Ladye Lee,
Huzza! 'Twill last for ages long, with a gay Ladye.

This version of London Bridge I found in a very old book, do you like it?

Charlie when he was little he he

Charley, Charley stole the barley

out of the Bakers Shop.
The Baker came out
And gave him a clout
Which made poor Charley

Hugs and Loves Diddily Dee Dot.

Diddilydeedot's Dreamland

There's nothing like a Daddy

I do not want a puppy-dog, although I know they're nice,
 For my papa can romp with me in ways that quite suffice.
He'll bark just like a St. Bernard, and like a mastiff growl,
And you would feel like laughing when he imitates a howl.

I do not want a pussy-cat. I like them very well,
But Daddy beats them all, and plays better than I can tell.
He'll purr and siss like anything; his mewing you should hear;
It makes more noise than any cat, and, oh, I shake with fear !

I do not want a pony small. Of course they're lots of fun,
But what's the use of babies when you're my dear daddy's son ?
He takes me on his shoulders broad, or puts me on his knees
And sets me off a-galloping as madly as you please.

Daddy and Molly JaeIn short, I don't want anything as long as Daddy's here;
He's pretty much of everything, and don't get out of gear.
And best of all the things boys have, I'm sure you'll find it true,
There's nothing like a Daddy who will always play with you ! ....

My beautiful Grand-Daughter Molly with Jack my son-in-law



Some Little Rhymes Especially for YOU!

Barber,barber, shave a pig;
How many hairs will make a wig?
"Four and twenty, that's enough,"
Give the barber a pinch of snuff.

Bat, bat, come under my hat,
And I'll give you a slice of bacon;
And when I bake
I'll give you a cake,
If I am not mistaken.
Birch and green holly, boys,
Birch and green holly,
If you get beaten, boys,
Twill be your own folly.
Robin the Bobbin, the big greedy Ben,
He ate more meat than four score men;
He ate a cow, he ate a calf,
He ate a butcher and a half;
He ate a church, he ate a steeple,
He ate the priest and all the people,
And yet he complained he was hungry!
As I was going to Charing Cross
I saw a man upon a black horse;
They told me it was King Charles the First;
Oh dear! my heart was ready to burst.
Bounce Buckram, velvet's dear;
Christmas comes but once a year
Sneeze on a Monday, sneeze for danger;
     Sneeze on a Tuesday, kiss a stranger;

Sneeze on Wednesday, sneeze for a letter;
     Sneeze on a Thursday, something better;
Sneeze on a Friday, sneeze for sorrow;
     Sneeze on a Saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow.
What is the rhyme for porringer?
The King he had a daughter fair,
And gave the Prince of Orange her.

Cross patch,
Draw the latch,
Sit by the fire and spin;
Take a cup,
And drink it up,
Then call your neighbours in.
For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy or there is none.
If ther be one try and find it;
If there be none never mind it.
My little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about:
I hade money and he had none,
And that's the way the noise begun.

There was a little rabbit sprig
Which, being little, was not big;
He always walked upon his feet,

And never fasted when he eat.
When from a place he ran away
He never at that place did stay.

And when he ran, as I am told,
He ne'er stood still for young or old;
Though ne'er instructed by a cat,
He knew a mouse was not a rat.
One day, as I am certified,
He took a whim and fairly died;
And, as I'm told by men of sense
He never has been walking since.



What care I how black I be?
Twenty pounds shall marry me.
If twenty won't, forty shall,
For I'm my mother's bouncing girl.

Now what do you think
Of little Jack Jingle?
Before he was married
He used to be single.

, tumble down ,
The Cat's in the cupboard
And she can't see me.

Here we go up, up, up,
Here we go down, down, down;
Here we go sdrawkcab and forwards,

And round about the town,
Then, here we go loop-de-lie,
Here we go loop-de-loi
Here we go wiggly, piggly
and twirl me around and around.    

There was an old woman who had three sons,
Jerry and James and John;
Jerry was hung, James was drowned,
John was lost and never found;
And that was the end of her three sons,
Jerry and James and John.

what a sad rhyme
flowers to cheer you up!

I must not throw upon the floor

The crust I cannot eat,
For many a hungry little one
Would think them quite a treat.
Tis wilful waste brings woeful want,
And I may live to say,
Oh, how I wish I had the crust
That once I threw away!

Punch and Judy fought for a pie;
Punch gave Judy a knock in the eye.

Say's Punch to Judy:
"Will you have anymore?"
Say's Judy to Punch:
"My eye is too sore."


Queen of hearts from Disney

Welcome to Dreamland

knave of hearts


Diddily's Dreamland
The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts
All on a summers day
The knave of hearts he stole those tarts

And hid them all away.

The King of Hearts called for the tarts
King of heartsAnd beat the Knave full sore
The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts
King of Clubs
And vowed he'd steal no more.

THE King of Clubs he often drubs
His loving queen and wife.
queen of clubsThe Queen of Clubs returns his snubs,
And all is noise and strife.

The Knave of Clubs gives winks and rubs,
And swears he'll take her part!
Knave of Clubs
For when our kings will do such things
They should be made to smart.

The Diamond King I fain would sing,
And likewise his fair queen,

But that the knave, a haughty slave,
Must needs step in between. 

knave of Diamonds

"Good Diamond King, with hempen stringQueen of Diamonds
This haughty knave destroy!
Then may your queen, with mind serene,
Your royal love enjoy." 

The King of Spades he kissed the maids,
Which grieved the queen full sore;
The Queen of Spades she beat those maids
King of SpadesAnd turned them out of door.

The Knave of Spades grieved for those jades,knave of spades
And did for them implore;
The queen so gent, she did relent,
Queen of SpadesAnd vowed she'd strike no more

 Welcome to Dreamland

St. Valentine's Own Story
        Let me introduce myself. My name is Valentine. I lived in Rome during the third century. That was long, long ago!
At that time, Rome was ruled by an emperor named Claudius. I
didn't like Emperor Claudius, and I wasn't the only one! A lot of people shared my feelings. Claudius wanted to have a big army. He expected men to volunteer to join. Many men just did not want to fight in wars. They did not want to leave their wives and families.
As you might have guessed, not many men signed up. This made Claudius furious. So what happened? He had a crazy idea. He thought that if men were not married, they would not mind joining the army. So Claudius decided not to allow any more marriages. Young people thought his new law was cruel. I thought it was preposterous! I certainly wasn't going to support that law!
Did I mention that I was a priest? One of my favourite activities was to marry couples. Even after Emperor Claudius passed his law, I kept on performing marriage ceremon
ies -- secretly, of course. It was really quite exciting. Imagine a small candlelit room with only the bride and groom and myself. We would whisper the words of the ceremony, listening all the while for the steps of soldiers. One night, we did hear footsteps. It was scary!
Thank goodness the couple I was marrying escaped in time. I was caught. (Not quite as light on my feet as I used to be, I guess.) I was thrown in jail and told that my punishment was death.

       I tried to stay cheerful. And do you know what? Wonderful things happened. Many young people came to the jail to visit me. They threw flowers and notes up to my window. They wanted me to know that they, too, believed in love.
One of these young people was the daughter of the prison guard. Her father allowed her to visit me in the cell. Sometimes we would sit and talk for hours. She helped me to keep my spirits up. She agreed that I did the right thing by ignoring the Emperor and going ahead with the secret marriages.
On the day I was to die, I left my friend a little note thanking her for her friendship and loyalty. I signed it, "Love from your Valentine." I believe that note started the custom of exchanging love messages on Valentine's Day. It was written on the day I died, February 14, 269 A.D. Now, every year on this day, people remember.
But most importantly, they think about love and friendship. And when they think of Emperor Claudius, they remember how he tried to stand in the way of love, and they laugh -- because they know that love can't be beaten! I hope you all have many sweet thoughts and happiness on this St. Valentines Day.

Much love from Seligor,
Diddilydeedot and Dodie, from Seligor's Castle in Dreamland. x x x x x x x x x x x



      Here is a wonderful poem from the
fabulous Ella Wheeler Wilcox,  from her little book "Poems of Cheer,"  The book was printed in 1915 so this  poem could have been written before then.
 Maybe, just maybe it was a new poem  written on a new years eve.
Wow! wouldn't that be amazing."    Here it is, do enjoy it.


"Little Blue Hood is coming now!
And we watch from the window while she goes by.
She has such a bonny, smooth, white brow.
And a fearless look in her long-lashed eye;
And a certain dignity wedded to grace,
Seems to envelope her form and face.

Every morning, in sun or rain,
She walks by the window with sweet, grave air,
And never guesses behind the pane,
We two are watching and thinking her fair;
Loving watching her down the street,
Dear Little Blue Hood, bright and sweet.

Somebody ties that hood of blue
Under the face so fair to see,
Somebody loves her, besides we two,
Somebody kisses her - why can't we?
Dear Little Blue Hood, fresh and fair,
Are you glad we love you, or don't you care?

Isn't this just right, in the exact place I wanted to put it. Now I am going to have a cup of tea and a piece of toast and go to my bed. See you all tomorrow.
Hugs and loves Diddily Dee Dot in Dreamland. x

Cherry Pie, Cherry Pie, who can't spell Pie?


Little Jack Jelf
Was put on the shelf
Because he could not spell “pie”;
When his aunt, Mrs. Grace,
Saw his sorrowful face,
She could not help saying, “Oh, fie!”

And since Master Jelf
Was put on the shelf
Because he could not spell “pie,”
Let him stand there so grim,
And no more about him,
For I wish him a very good-bye!

three little pigsTHE THREE LITTLE PIGS

Long ago, there were three little pigs,
Little handsome piggy wigs.
For the big, bad, very big, very bad wolf,
house of twigs
They didn't give three figs.
Number one was very gay
And he built his house of hay.
With a hey hey toot, he blew his flute
And he played around all day.

Number two was fond of jigs
So he built his house of twigs.
Heigh diddle diddle, he played on his fiddle
a house of bricksAnd danced with lady pigs.
Number three said "Nix on tricks.

I will build my house with bricks."
He had no chance to sing and dance,
‘Cause work and play don't mix!

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
house of hay
Big bad wolf, big bad wolf?
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
Tra la la la la.

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
Big bad wolf, big bad wolf?
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
Tra la la la la.

 of twigsCame the day when fate did frown,
And the wolf blew into town.
With a gruff "puff, puff,"
He puffed just enough
And the hay house fell right down.
The house of bricks
One and two were scared to death
Of the big bad wolfie's breath.
"By the hair of your chinny-chin,

I'll blow you in."
And the twig house answered yes.
No one left but number three
To save the piglet family.
When they knocked, he fast unlocked

And said "Come in with me!"
Now they all were safe inside
climbed down the chimneyAnd the bricks hurt wolfie's pride.
So he slid down the chimney and,
Oh, by Jim'ney, in the fire he was fried!

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?Poor wolf he fried in the fire
Big bad wolf, big bad wolf?
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
Tra la la la la.

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
Big bad wolf, big bad wolf?
Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
tra la la la la.


Have I ever put this wonderful story on as a small blog for you to read,
I somehow don't think I did. So here I am reminding you that it is here, at "Something New" at   http://diddilydeedotsdreamland.zoomshare.com/

By Aleksander Borejko Chodźko
There was once a widow who had two daughters, Helen, her own child by her dead husband, and Marouckla, his daughter by his first wife. She loved Helen, but hated the poor orphan because she was far prettier than her own daughter.

Marouckla did not think about her good looks, and could not understand why her stepmother should be angry at the sight of her. The hardest work fell to her share. She cleaned out the rooms, cooked, washed, sewed, spun, wove, brought in the hay, milked the cow, and all this without any help.

Helen, meanwhile, did nothing but dress herself in her best clothes and go to one amusement after another.

But Marouckla never complained. She bore the scoldings and bad temper of mother and sister with a smile on her lips, and the patience of a lamb. But this angelic behavior did not soften them. They became even more tyrannical and grumpy, for Marouckla grew daily more beautiful, while Helen's ugliness increased. So the stepmother determined to get rid of Marouckla, for she knew that while she remained, her own daughter would have no suitors. Hunger, every kind of privation, abuse, every means was used to make the girl's life miserable. But in spite of it all Marouckla grew ever sweeter and more charming.

One day in the middle of winter Helen wanted some wood-violets.
"Listen," cried she to Marouckla, "you must go up the mountain and find me violets. I want some to put in my gown. They must be fresh and sweet-scented-do you hear?"
"But, my dear sister, whoever heard of violets blooming in the snow?" said the poor orphan.
"You wretched creature! Do you dare to disobey me?'' said Helen. "Not another word. Off with you! If you do not bring me some violets from the mountain forest I will kill you."

The stepmother also added her threats to those of Helen, and with vigorous blows they pushed Marouckla outside and shut the door upon her. The weeping girl made her way to the mountain. The snow lay deep, and there was no trace of any human being. Long she wandered hither and thither, and lost herself in the wood. She was hungry, and shivered with cold, and prayed to die.

Suddenly she saw a light in the distance, and climbed toward it till she reached the top of the mountain. Upon the highest peak burned a large fire, surrounded by twelve blocks of stone on which sat twelve strange beings. Of these the first three had white hair, three were not quite so old, three were young and handsome, and the rest still younger.

There they all sat silently looking at the fire. They were the Twelve Months of the Year. The great January was placed higher than the others. His hair and mustache were white as snow, and in his hand he held a wand. At first Marouckla was afraid, but after a while her courage returned, and drawing near, she said:The Twelve Months

"Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? I am chilled by the winter cold.''
The great January raised his head and answered: "What brings thee here, my daughter? What dost thou seek?''
"I am looking for violets," replied the maiden.
"This is not the season for violets. Dost thou not see the snow everywhere?" said January.
"I know well, but my sister Helen and my stepmother have ordered me to bring them violets from your mountain. If I return without them they will kill me. I pray you, good shepherds, tell me where they may be found."

Here the great January arose and went over to the youngest of the Months, and, placing his wand in his hand, said:
"Brother March, do thou take the highest place.''
March obeyed, at the same time waving his wand over the fire. Immediately the flames rose toward the sky, the snow began to melt and the trees and shrubs to bud. The grass became green, and from between its blades peeped the pale primrose. It was spring, and the meadows were blue with violets.

"Gather them quickly, Marouckla," said March.
Joyfully she hastened to pick the flowers, and having soon a large bunch she thanked them and ran home. Helen and the stepmother were amazed at the sight of the flowers, the scent of which filled the house.

"Where did you find them?" asked Helen.
"Under the trees on the mountain-side," said Marouckla.
Helen kept the flowers for herself and her mother. She did not even thank her stepsister for the trouble she had taken. The next day she desired Marouckla to fetch her strawberries.
"Run," said she, "and fetch me strawberries from the mountain. They must be very sweet and ripe."
"But whoever heard of strawberries ripening in the snow?" exclaimed Marouckla.
Hold your tongue, worm; don't answer me. If I don't have my strawberries I will kill you," said Helen.
Then the stepmother pushed Marouckla into the yard and bolted the door. The unhappy girl made her way toward the mountain and to the large fire round which sat the Twelve Months. The great January occupied the highest place.
"Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The winter cold chills me,'' said she, drawing near.
The great January raised his head and asked: "Why comest thou here? What dost thou seek?''
"I am looking for strawberries,'' said she.
"We are in the midst of winter,'' replied January, "strawberries do not grow in the snow.''
"I know,'' said the girl sadly, "but my sister and stepmother have ordered me to bring them strawberries. If I do not they will kill me. Pray, good shepherds, tell me where to find them.''

The great January arose, crossed over to the Month opposite him, and putting the wand in his hand, said: "Brother June, do thou take the highest place.''
June obeyed, and as he waved his wand over the fire the flames leaped toward the sky. Instantly the snow melted, the earth was covered with verdure, trees were clothed with leaves, birds began to sing, and various flowers blossomed in the forest. It was summer. Under the bushes masses of star-shaped flowers changed into ripening strawberries, and instantly they covered the glade, making it look like a sea of blood.

"Gather them quickly, Marouckla,'' said June.
Joyfully she thanked the Months, and having filled her apron ran happily home.
Helen and her mother wondered at seeing the strawberries, which filled the house with their delicious fragrance.
"Wherever did you find them?'' asked Helen crossly.
"Right up among the mountains. Those from under the beech trees are not bad,'' answered Marouckla.
Helen gave a few to her mother and ate the rest herself. Not one did she offer to her stepsister. Being tired of strawberries, on the third day she took a fancy for some fresh, red apples.

"Run, Marouckla,'' said she, "and fetch me fresh, red apples from the mountain.''
"Apples in winter, sister? Why, the trees have neither leaves nor fruit!''
"Idle thing, go this minute,'' said Helen; "unless you bring back apples we will kill you.''
As before, the stepmother seized her roughly and turned her out of the house. The poor girl went weeping up the mountain, across the deep snow, and on toward the fire round which were the Twelve Months. Motionless they sat there, and on the highest stone was the great January.

"Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The winter cold chills me,'' said she, drawing near.
Marouckla espied a treeThe great January raised his head. "Why comest thou here? What does thou seek?'' asked he.
"I am come to look for red apples,'' replied Marouckla.
"But this is winter, and not the season for red apples,'' observed the great January.
"I know,'' answered the girl, "but my sister and stepmother sent me to fetch red apples from the mountain. If I return without them they will kill me.''
Thereupon the great January arose and went over to one of the elderly Months, to whom he handed the wand saying:
"Brother September, do thou take the highest place.''

September moved to the highest stone, and waved his wand over the fire. There was a flare of red flames, the snow disappeared, but the fading leaves which trembled on the trees were sent by a cold northeast wind in yellow masses to the glade. Only a few flowers of autumn were visible. At first Marouckla looked in vain for red apples. Then she espied a tree which grew at a great height, and from the branches of this hung the bright, red fruit. September ordered her to gather some quickly. The girl was delighted and shook the tree. First one apple fell, then another.

"That is enough,'' said September; "hurry home.''
Thanking the Months she returned joyfully. Helen and the stepmother wondered at seeing the fruit.
"Where did you gather them?'' asked the stepsister.
"There are more on the mountain-top,'' answered Marouckla.
"Then, why did you not bring more?'' said Helen angrily. "You must have eaten them on your way back, you wicked girl.''
"No, dear sister, I have not even tasted them,'' said Marouckla. "I shook the tree twice. One apple fell each time. Some shepherds would not allow me to shake it again, but told me to return home.''
"Listen, mother,'' said Helen. "Give me my cloak. I will fetch some more apples myself. I shall be able to find the mountain and the tree. The shepherds may cry `Stop!' but I will not leave go till I have shaken down all the apples.''

In spite of her mother's advice she wrapped herself in her pelisse, put on a warm hood, and took the road to the mountain. Snow covered everything. Helen lost herself and wandered hither and thither. After a while she saw a light above her, and, following in its direction, reached the mountain-top.
There was the flaming fire, the twelve blocks of stone, and the Twelve Months. At first she was frightened and hesitated - then she came nearer and warmed her hands. She did not ask permission, nor did she speak one polite word.
"What hath brought thee here? What dost thou seek?'' said the great January severely.
"I am not obliged to tell you, old graybeard. What business is it of yours?'' she replied disdainfully, turning her back on the fire and going toward the forest.
The great January frowned, and waved his wand over his head. Instantly the sky became covered with clouds, the fire went down, snow fell in large flakes, an icy wind howled round the mountain. Amid the fury of the storm Helen stumbled about. The pelisse failed to warm her benumbed limbs.

The mother kept on waiting for her. She looked from the window, she watched from the doorstep, but her daughter came not. The hours passed slowly, but Helen did not return.
"Can it be that the apples have charmed her from her home?'' thought the mother. Then she clad herself in hood and pelisse, and went in search of her daughter. Snow fell in huge masses.
It covered all things. For long she wandered hither and thither, the icy northeast wind whistled in the mountain, but no voice answered her cries.
Day after day Marouckla worked, and prayed, and waited, but neither stepmother nor sister returned. They had been frozen to death on the mountain.
The inheritance of a small house, a field, and a cow fell to Marouckla. In course of time an honest farmer came to share them with her, and their lives were happy and peaceful.

Written by the wonderful:

Aleksander Borejko Chodźko (
30 August 1804 – 27 December 1891) Slavist, and Iranologist. he was a Polish poet, 

He was born in Krzywicze in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, and attended the University of VilniusFilaret Association) and the Institute of Oriental Studies that was attached to the Ministry of Foreign Affaires of the Russian Empire in Saint-Petersburg. (member of the

From 1830 until 1844, he worked as a Russian diplomat in Iran.

  • From 1852 until 1855, he worked for Ministry of Foreign Affaires of the France.
  • From 1857 until 1883 he succeeded Adam Mickiewicz in the chair of Slavic languages and literatures in the Collège de France.
  • He was a member of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland and the Société de linguistique de Paris.

Click here to visit AsianParent.com.

Written and Illustrated by Janaki Sooriyarachchi

 an author from Sri Lanka

Daffodeelia was a pretty little fairy. She was as pretty as the prettiest wildflower.

Her hair was golden color, and her eyes were the deepest blue.

She was always very happy and lively, and her smile was like a beautiful rainbow.

Wherever she went, her merry laugh could be heard.

Daffodeelia’s favorite hobby, was painting flowers. She had a lovely little paint bucket and a magical paintbrush. When she dipped the brush into the paint bucket and touched the flowers with just the tip of it, they glowed with wonderful colors. She enjoyed painting flowers very much.

When night fell and everybody went to sleep, she would fly around the sky with her paint bucket and wonder-brush. She visited all the gardens and painted the flowers with her wonder-brush. She liked it so much that she spent the whole night painting flowers.

The flowers sat up and waited impatiently, until Daffodeelia came, to dress them up in rainbow colors. She flew all around the flower gardens, painting the flowers quickly, before daybreak.

No one else knew that it was she, who painted the flowers during the night. Only the flowers, themselves, knew the secret. At the sunrise, the flowers woke up and smiled in multi-colored beauty, every day.

One day, as she was flying around, hurriedly painting the wildflowers, in the middle of a forest she came upon a garden with not a single flower in it. The whole garden looked very pale and gloomy and there was a little odd-looking hut in the middle.

Since there were no flowers to paint, in the garden, she flew away. But as she was passing over the garden’s boundary, she heard someone sobbing. “Who’s crying?”

Daffodeelia looked around to see who it was. But, there was no one to be seen. She heard it again. It had to have come from the colorless garden, she thought. But it looked abandoned and not a flower was in sight. A huge fence made with thorny sticks went all the way around the garden.

Daffodeelia peeped through the fence, to see who was so unhappy.

“Oh, no! Please, Daffodeelia, don’t go in,” the wildflowers shouted, all at once.

“Why? Why shouldn’t I go in?” Daffodeelia asked.

“Daffodeelia, that garden belongs to a witch. She doesn’t like any flowers in her garden. And she doesn’t let anyone enter. Not even a single little bee is allowed in. If she sees you, you’ll be in big trouble!” the wildflowers cried. The blubbering sound, which had quit, started again when the flowers spoke up.

“Oh no, someone is crying. I must go and see what I can do.”

Daffodeelia peeped through the fence once more.

“Oh, there you are!”

She could finally see it was a tiny little flower, who was crying underneath a bush. The flower looked pale and fragile. She cried so much that Daffodeelia couldn’t bear it.

“Little flower, why are you crying?” she asked, gently.

The little flower lifted her head and looked at Daffodeelia, with tear-filled eyes.

“I feel very lonely. No one comes to keep me company, because I am so pale and ugly. The bees and butterflies visit all the other flowers, but do not come to me, because I’m not pretty. I don’t have any color at all!”

The little whitish flower sobbed and sobbed. Daffodeelia felt sorry for her.

Oh, don’t cry, little flower. I’ll give you beautiful colors. Then, you also will be pretty, like the others. And the bees and butterflies will come to you too,” she said.

Just as she was about to creep under the fence, to go to the little flower, all the wildflowers shouted again.

“Oh, no, Daffodeelia... don’t go in! The witch hates flowers and colors. That’s why that plain little flower is hiding under the bush. If you go in, you’ll get caught by the witch.”

“But, please... I want to help that poor flower. She is so sad. I want to give her color and make her happy,” Daffodeelia said.

Well, then, you wait here until I go and see whether the witch is still sleeping,” said a hummingbird that had been watching from a branch. He flew towards the witch’s hut at once and came back chirping.

“Hurry up! Hurry up! The witch is still sleeping. Go in and paint the flower before she wakes up,” said the bird.

Daffodeelia was very happy. She sneaked through the fence, into the witch’s garden and went to the whitish, little flower.

“Daffodeelia, be careful... be careful!” the flowers and the butterflies shouted, as she went in. The whitish flower was very happy. Her face was flushed with happiness. Daffodeelia knelt down beside her and started to paint. She had barely touched the flower when, she was pulled by her feet by someone.

“Oh, noooo!” she cried.

It was the witch of the colorless garden. She had woken up, and came to see what was going on. “What are you doing over here?” the witch growled.

“I... I... I just came to paint this little flower,” Daffodeelia stammered, in fear. 

“What? You want to paint a flower? I’ll paint you instead!”

The witch held her by the wings and sat right down on top of the little flower. And then she grabbed Daffodeelia’s bucket and poured all the paint onto her head.

“Oh, noooo! Please...”

The paint dripped down her head. The strands of her golden hair were splashed with paint. And when she shook her head, little drips of paint scattered all over.

Just then, an amazing thing happened. The little drips from her hair that had splashed on the ground, popped up magically, as lovely little golden flowers.

The whole garden was soon covered with them. Some of the drips that had landed on the witch’s nose, also popped up as golden flowers.

The witch, who hated flowers, got very angry. Her cottage also was covered with the golden flowers. She couldn’t stop the flowers from blossoming. She couldn’t bear their lovely fragrance, either. She plopped the paint bucket on Daffodeelia’s head and went away, angrily.

Bees and butterflies fluttered all around her. She waved her hands, trying to beat them away, but she couldn’t. The flowers were blooming all over the place and the whole garden turned golden, with the magical flowers.

The witch couldn’t bear it any more, so she packed up her things and left to go to a new forest, far away, kicking at the flowers angrily, as she went.



The sun was rising on the eastern sky. The little golden flowers danced merrily. And the little flower, no longer whitish, also laughed merrily, glowing in golden color. The morning breeze refreshed them and took their lovely fragrance all across the forest. Daffodeelia was very happy. She laughed and flitted among the flowers, singing happily.

The flowers, bees, and butterflies sang along with her. When the sun had risen, she left to go back to fairyland.

The golden flowers waved to her, as she flew away. They looked so beautiful in the sunlight, just like Daffodeelia.

Thereafter, the lovely golden flowers were called “daffodils.”

That’s how daffodils came into this world.

Janaki Sooriyarachchi  Biography.....

Janaki Sooriyarachchi is a young, versatile author-illustrator in Sri Lanka, who started writing early, in her childhood. She wrote her first book, a ballad, when she was 8 years old and her first book was published at the age of 14. Since then, she has authored over 146 story books for children.

The illustrations, computer graphics, as well as the music & lyrics for her children's song books, have also been done by the author herself.
Though a qualified banker by profession employed at Sampath Bank, she is involved in diverse fields of interest.

The ancestral home in the beautiful village of Puhulwella, where she spent her childhood with her maternal grandparents, was the breeding ground to Janaki Sooriyarachchi.

For the rest of this wonderful author's biography please go to the following link:-

Strange to say though, I always thought the daffodil was Welsh .... of course this could be due to the fact that I'm Welsh of course Smile





                       New MP3 Download StoreBoxing Day may be over, but you can still find great savings in our January Sale

You will find a lot of adverts for Amazon throughout my web sites, if you want to go through to any of the links, just give them a click. Some will take you to my own customise lists that I have made especially for the pages I am working on, others are direct links, and if you want to come back you will have to click Back on browser.
There you go , my little shopping advice for the new year, my daughter bought me Pirates of the Caribbian three for Christmas, she got it reduced to £7.00 but if she had asked I could have ordered it myself for £4.36 and no postage or petrol.
this is our wedding last yearSince being stuck at home more now the weather is so bad and me, the wheelchairs and my darling husband Peter find it much easier to shop on line.
I like Tesco for my shopping and they deliver all my stuff for the week, it cost us £4 for delivery but we live five miles from the nearest shops so it is brilliant.
I also do all my banking , BT, Electric, all my bills in fact, even as small as £2.50 for the Orangutang in Borneo.
What a saving, I would recommend all pensioners to start shopping online. Why not start your own web site like I did, one where you can put pictures of all the grand kids, holidays, etc. and even watch video's on line of the kids like I did with my daughter in Spain a couple of years ago, wonderful
Like all things you have to be careful you don't go overboard and sign up for everything you see. That is an easy mistake you can make, from youth to Ancients like me I think.
Have you ever thought of writing a story, then use the web, I use Zoomshare.com for my websites, there are very many about and sometimes things go wrong.. ... ask poor Sare who has helped me out of bother dozens of times.
It is such a thrill. If anyone had told me I would have four websites, a very large Spaces Live with Microsoft as well, I'd have said don't be daft. But here I am working on what was to become Dreamland for the little ones.
Oh my what fun I have looking for pictures to accompany my stories and then to find a wonderful web site that has many wonderful things on it. I get so excited that I have been known to stay up till 4 in the morning.Beautiful Abbey
Thank goodness for My Darling Peter Husband again. Gosh How I love him!
I must admit to playing Poker Texas Holdem on line also, this is my recreation.
Friends I guess I have hundreds, all over the world. from Tasmania to Transylvania, all of them wonderful. It is such a pleasure, though I wish more people would sign my guest books, Frown you get many hits but not many messages, telling you how wonderful you are .Smile.  I had a lovely one the day before yesterday though, here in Dreamland it was really lovely. Made my Christmas, that and seeing two of my 19 grand children.
I do believe I have established a small dynasty of my own, along with my three sisters and all our marriages!  There are pictures of most of the family either scattered on the web pages or in the photo albums on my spaces and in the four sites., not counting Facebook and other things all the kids have opened.
Penny with Scooby doo
Right that me finished for tonight, I am going into my bed now. Snuggle down with one of my two dogs, Abbey, Penny sleeps upstairs with Peter.
The cat, Tuppence, she sleeps where the heat is most warm and tonight it is very cold indeed in my Welsh Mountain Village of Pontybodkyn.
 Do pop in if ever your passing on your way to the West Coast through Corwen, I am normally at home.

Take care, from me to everyone and remember you can wish all and everyone a happy, prosperous and good New Year, but you are the only one that can make it happen.
Look after your health, especially in this dreadfully cold weather.
Respect your friends and family as you would like them to respect you.
And LOVE, that little four letter word.
Try each day to share you love with someone, to help them and guide them along the road of life which oft these times need not only your love' but your understanding as well. Life for the young these days, seems much more complicated than my life when I was young.
Try to have time for them, listen to them, I have found that very acceptable with all my youngsters.
Don't knock their ideas back continually or they will stop having their own ideas and take on others, and their ideas just mightn't be as good as their own.

Gosh I am supposed to be in bed.
My love and respect to all of the human race, and May the God you love and respect look after you and keep you safe from harm throughout the rest of your life.
part of my back garden
Hugs and XXX's Seligor, Diddilydeedot and Dodie, one for all and all are one.

"No parent should have to bury their Children" as spoker by Theoden King, from The Two Towers, in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.

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