The Blacksmith The blacksmith by his anvil, his hammer in his hand. He beats a merry rhythm upon the hardened steel. Tap, tap, it bounces, up and down, a clear shrill note as old as time. The shoe he forms with an expert eye, as practiced as his old clay pipe. The Language of Flowers A wish: A cry from the heart A dream: A longing for something good A care: For something lovely Gary the Grasshopper Gary the grasshopper was such a nice guy. All he wanted to do was to fly and fly. Around and around, and up and down he goes, he bangs off the ceiling and hurts his poor nose. From Ireland to...