Betty Chabot Canadian Poet

First Verse
I am only a dreamer trying to catch
A sunbeam that hides from me;
I am only a weaver trying to match
Threads that don’t want to be.
But it’s all in the way
I start at each day
That means whether I’m glad or blue,
Somehow the mending is all depending
On nobody else but you.

Chorus
I am dreaming, I am scheming,
I am planning every day,
Trying to make skies of blue
Out of clouds of grey.
Someday all the clouds will hide
‘Neath the sunbeams stretching wide;
Then my scheming, then my dreaming,
Will come true for you.

Second Verse
I am only a schemer trying to make
A pathway of gold for you,
I am only a gleaner trying to take
Roads that are always blue.
I am scheming each day
To find a new way
To brighten the roadway of love,
From a dusky dawn till the clouds are gone,
And the blue sky smiles above.

Third Verse
I am only another plodding along
And trying to make ends meet,
I am only another one of the throng
Tasting life’s bitter-sweet.
But so long as I know
Wherever I go,
Somebody is waiting for me,
The sunbeams I’ll catch, the threads I will match,
Till they’re as you want them to be.

– Circa 1930

The clouds have banked the sky with grey;
The wind is blowing strong;
A July day, upon the way
The dust is rolled along.
But let the storm clouds frown upon
My sorrow and my pain;
Let the wind blow high,
The rain draw nigh
So long as I
Am a child of the storm and rain.
The tears are falling from the sky.
And yet, outside to-day
From way up high, where white clouds cry
The sunbeams thread the way.
Do not grieve when you see me weep;
I can be happy too,
But the storm clouds bring
On memories wing
The rush and sting
That awakens my thoughts of you.

– July 1929 –

Sandy and his Scottish lass
Were a’travelling in the West,
Where the prairie towns all look alike
And each one seems the best.
Near the station platform lay a moose;
‘Twas shot at break of day.
The hunter, very human,
Was proud of his display.
When down the station platform our
Sandy happened by;
“An wot might that be, Sir,” said he.
“Tis a moose,” was the reply.
“There’s a mouse doon ther at the station, Jean.
“A mouse, nae, Sandy, nae!”
“Sure an’ this is a turrible country lass,
Come and see it for yursae.”
“Tis sure an ye won’t believe it.”
“Och, mon, fer mercy saeke,
A mouse, sae help me God!” says she,
“An wot might the rats be like!”

– Circa 1928