Diddily Dee Dot's Dreamland for Children Everywhere Kindness Street
"Wonderful Rhymes for the Children of the World"
SOMETHING NEW ESPECIALLY FOR YOU This is very NEW because Diddily just wrote it!
"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." 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.
I 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.
THIS IS SOMETHING OLD. BUT IT COULD BE NEW TO YOU.
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?
HERE IS ANOTHER OLD RHYME; Charley, Charley stole the barley out of the Bakers Shop. The Baker came out And gave him a clout Which made poor Charley HOP, HOP, HOP.
Hugs and Loves Diddily Dee Dot.
Diddilydeedot's Dreamland HELLO AND WELCOME ONCE MORE TO SOMETHING NEW
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.
In 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
WELCOME TO THE GREEN PAGE
AND SOMETHING NEW
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.
NURSERY RHYMES FROM THE CRADLE TO SCHOOL DAYS 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. HOI!
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."
Welcome to Dreamland
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS
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
And beat the Knave full sore
The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts And vowed he'd steal no more.
THE King of Clubs he often drubs
His loving queen and wife.
The 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!
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.
"Good Diamond King, with hempen string
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
And turned them out of door.
The Knave of Spades grieved for those jades,
And did for them implore;
The queen so gent, she did relent,
And vowed she'd strike no more
Welcome to Dreamland
St. Valentine's Own Story
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 ceremonies -- 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 thefabulous Ella Wheeler Wilcox,from her little book "Poems of Cheer,"The book was printed in 1915 so thispoem 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
"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?
JUST CLICK ^ ON THE DVD SLOT NEXT TO START ON VIDEO BOXIF THE "ERROR" SLOGAN SHOWS.
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
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!
THE THREE LITTLE PIGS
Long ago, there were three little pigs, Little handsome piggy wigs. For the big, bad, very big, very bad wolf, 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 And 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? 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.
Came 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. 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 And 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? 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/
THE TWELVE MONTHS. 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
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
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
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
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:
"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.''
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. The 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
"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.
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
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
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
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 CollÃ¨ge de France.
Illustrated by Janaki Sooriyarachchi an author from Sri Lanka
Daffodeelia was a pretty little fairy. She was as pretty as the prettiest
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
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
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
“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,
“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
“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
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
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
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
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:- http://www.tikiri.com/author.html
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
JUST CLICK ^ON THE DVD SLOT NEXT TO START ON VIDEO BOX
I HAVE SEVERAL ASTORES AT AMAZON AND UP UNTIL A MONTH AGO I HAD MY OWN BOOK SELLERS, WHICH WAS GREAT FUN ESPECIALLY FOR MYSELF WITH ALL MY MANY BOOKS. YOU ARE NOT RECTRICTED TO BOOKS HOWEVER, LIKE MOST BIG SITES THE SALE ROOM IS ENORMOUS.
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. Since 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. 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, you get many hits but not many messages, telling you how wonderful you are .. 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. 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.
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.