RAINBOW CHORUS

By L. Frank Baum
Author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.

From the projected stage show Ozma of Oz, 1909.

We’re the daughters of the Rainbow
In the clouds our palace stands,
There we’re daily dancing gaily
In the realm our sire commands.
When the great world just beneath us
Is submerged by summer showers
All our sky-land is a dry land
And a merry life is ours.

Dancing on the shifting clouds
Where the Rainbow dwells,
Well we know our sunny bow
Lovely skies foretells.
We’re as happy as the day
Frolicsome and light and gay
Though to earth we sometimes stray
Cloudland is our home.

Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, June 30, 1918

 

The Supposyville Picnic

Oh, once upon a tiny time

In old Supposyville

The King and Queen and all the rest

Went camping on a hill.

A dim, deep forest stretched beyond—

All very well by day—

But waiting for the night to come

Two lurking lions lay!

They licked their chops and counted up

The good Supposies there.

“Aho!” said one. “We’ll have enough

Indeed and some to spare.

“Just let them feast to heart’s content,

I like ’em better stuffed!”

And so the hungry lions lay

All day and bluffed and snuffed.

Meanwhile, Supposies, unaware

Of such unkindly neighbors,

Frolicked away the livelong day

And rested from their labors.

A tasty supper topped the rest,

And now each made his bed

From fragrant spruce boughs which do make

A springy couch, ’tis said.

And as the stars came out they all

Disposed themselves for sleep.

Then stealthily the lions twain

From out the forest creep.

“I’ll take the King!” “And I the Queen!”

The wretched beasts decided.

“And after that the rest of them

Can quickly be divided!”

Hahoh—the King is chuckling to

Himself, for he has planned

A great surprise, and softly now

He motions to the band.

All suddenly a blare of horns

And trumpets loudly sounded.

The drowsy folk sprang to their feet

Astonished and confounded.

Then up rose fireworks of all kinds

And colors in bright showers;

The sky is spangled with a host

Of bursting gay fire flowers.

The good Supposies clap their hands

And cry aloud in glee.

The lions quail and next turn tail,

Then turn about and flee!

The King nor none of them had seen

The lions. I am glad.

It would have spoiled the picnic just

To think of things so bad.

And on the whole I’m awf’ly pleased

That they were all surprised

Instead of eaten up, my dears,

And really lionized.

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.