Knjigice
Fairy tale · Funny stories
Shock-headed Peter
Funny rhymes about four very naughty children
Also in: Kuštravi Peter (Slovenian) · Strapatý Peter (Slovak)
Children, come and gather round,
here's the funniest tale around!
Peter never combs his hair,
Philip rocks his dinner chair,
Johnny stares at clouds all day,
Robert's blown by wind away.
Each of them has gone astray,
each one in his own odd way —
and whoever hears the four
laughs until his sides go sore!
1
Look! Our Peter, proud and grand,
grinning at the whole wide land!
Not one comb, for all the year,
ever came his hair-mop near:
up it goes all wild and vast,
like a bird's nest in a blast.
Scissors flew beneath the bench!
So his nails grew, inch by inch,
long as pencils, every one,
curling snail-wise in the sun.
Statue-proud, he laughs with glee:
"Aren't I handsome? Look at me!"
2
Supper time! The table's laid:
soup and bread and lemonade.
Father looks at Phil and sighs:
"Sit up straight! Today be wise!"
Philip's bored in half a tick:
feet begin to dance and kick,
hands go drumming: bum-bum-bam,
chair goes rocking — bam! bam! bam!
Back and forth it creaks and cries.
"Philip!" Mother groans. "Oh no!"
Philip only giggles: "Ho!"
3
Back the chair goes — over — whee!
Philip's in the air! Oh me!
At the last he grabs the cloth,
and the cloth brings off the lot:
soup flies up in one great spray,
plates go sailing far away,
bread and forks and bowls take wing —
CRASH! and BOOM! and BANG! and BING!
All is down — but tell me, then:
where is Philip? Look again…
4
From the cloth a head appears —
soup bowl sitting on his ears,
carrot tucked behind them too:
Philip's whole! But supper's through.
"Where's our supper?" "On the floor,"
sighs poor Father. "Nothing more."
Philip sneezes — what a blast! —
off the bowl flies, sailing past.
Father laughs, and Mother too,
and the cat: "What fun! Mew, mew!"
5
Johnny walks to school — hooray! —
satchel bouncing all the way.
Where's he looking? Up, up there,
where the swallows sweep the air!
"One, and two, and three!" he counts —
not his steps. His steps don't count.
"Johnny, careful!" cries a man.
Too late — BONK! — a lamppost. BAM!
"Pardon me!" says Johnny — then
up he stares at birds again.
6
The river gleams — but Johnny's eyes
go wandering across the skies:
"A woolly sheep! A dragon's head!"
One step — two — three — and SPLOSH instead!
Backwards in the stream he sails,
spray flies up like silver veils.
Neck-deep, cold and rather glum,
he sits where all the rushes hum:
"Where's this river from, I say?
It was NOT here yesterday!"
7
Two kind neighbours come at speed,
hold a pole out: "Take good heed!
Johnny, grab it — grab it tight!"
And they heave him — up! — all right!
Johnny drips upon the bank:
sleeves run rivers, shoes go clank.
And his writing book? It floats,
bobbing off like little boats,
three wee fishes see it swim:
"Goodbye, book! The sea for him!"
8
When the rain comes down in sheets
and the wind goes round the eaves,
every child runs in to hide.
Every child but Rob — not he!
Robert takes his big umbrella:
"Rain can't do a thing to me!"
Out he marches through the blow,
whistling: "Wind? Away we go!"
So the wind puffs up his brolly,
tugs it twice — and up! — oh golly!
9
Robert's flying high and higher:
under him the gardens lie,
under him the church's spire,
up and up towards the sky!
People point and shout: "Oh, see!
There's a boy! He's flying! Whee!"
"Hello!" Robert waves. "Good day!"
Wind takes him three hills away,
over wood and stream and field…
Where to? No one has revealed.
And who knows where he came down —
maybe right here, in your town?
10The End
