These are, strictly speaking, not songs but poems, from "Pogo's Sunday Punch," by Walt Kelly, 1957.

The first poem appears after the table of contents, but before the first Pogo story, suggesting it is meant as a dedication. It is accompanied only by 2 small drawings of puppies.

TO THE EVERYDAY CHILD

Tell me, friend, so
Meek, so mild,
Who is not
A Monday child?

Tell me, tell me
Who is not
Who is not
A Tuesday tot?

Whisper, whisper
Just for fun,
Who is not
The Wednesday one?

Tell me, tell me,
All forlorn,
Who was not
On Thursday born?

Tell me only,
If you wish,
Who is not
A Friday fish?

You can ponder,
And you may,
Who is not
Of Saturday?

Sing me, pray thee,
Sweet and wild,
Who is not
A Sunday child?

The following poems appear, not as part of any story, but in two separate sections called "Stuff and Nonsense" and "More Stuff and Nonsense." They are all accompanied by drawings, but I have not described the drawings except in one instance where I think they help clarify the meaning of the poem. I have chosen only a few of the more memorable, or coincidentally relevant, poems.

MOON OVER MAMIE

O, Mamie minded Momma
'Til one day in Singapore
A Sailorman from Turkestan
Came knocking at the Door.

The way he knocked
On knob and lock
It shook her to the core.
She eyed the clock
Twixt tick and tock
And sighed a snappy snore.

"Raise Raise the Raisin!
No Rising Ruse will reign
With bitter pitter patter
Upon My windowpane!

"Oh, please no longer potter
Upon my poppa's pane."
Mamie mocked the Merchantman
Who knocked with might and main.

SONG OF THE MOON

Now that the star
Has replaced the horse,
You must hitch your wagon
To something, of course.

Choose something controlled.
No thing that'll bite,
Something nice in a regular
Pink satellite.

A platform for space
A firm form for face
In the Mondalite,
Tuesdalite, Wednesdalite chase.

At a Thursdalite,
Fridalite, Satellite pace.
(The blue laws prevent
any Sundalite race.)

[The drawings accompanying the above poem show (1) Churchy on roller skates, wearing a Russian-style fur hat and coat, being pulled by a bear; and (2) Churchy, in the same hat and coat, standing in a floating teacup, looking outward and downward at stars, while the bear floats on a tether.]

THE PRINCE OF POMPADOODLE

The Prince of Pompadoodle
Lived behind a castle wall,
Behind a moat, behind a guard
Of twenty soldiers tall.

The Prince of Pompadoodle
Was the safest man alive.
Each day he wrote how long he'd lived
And multiplied by five.

The Prince of Pompadoodle
Would survive, he did decide,
Five times as long as he had been
Alive before he died.

The Prince of Pompadoodle
Called in the castle sage
For his advice in this pursuit
Of long and fulsome age.

The Prince of Pompadoodle
Heard in horror from this friend
That somewhere in the palace
Was a cur who'd seek his end!

The Prince of Pompadoodle
Scarce could credit a belief
His years might soon be sneaked away
By some ungrateful thief.

The Prince of Pompadoodle
Sent his every friend away
And sat alone, safe, locked alive,
To count another day.

The Prince of Pompadoodle
May hoard each empty hour,
But none can know; no word comes from
The silent stony tower.

TO PRINCESS MARGARET ROSE

The last photograph and a half of you,
Over four million miles of sea,
Broke a heart already unsteady
Over six million miles of sea.

We've suffered,
We've suffered much with you,
Over nine million miles of sea (more or less)
None the less we are ready
Over ten million miles of sea.

With the old and the new
And the borrowed and blue
Over twelve million miles of sea,
We'd give up the throne
(Had we one of our own)
And invite the family to tea.

But what would we do with the children?
And what would we do with the sea?
We'd really no notion
There was so much Ocean.
Love and kisses, the Mrs. and me.

THE OLYMPICS

We salute you, oh, games of the ages
But the game of an age turning gray
Was when I carried the torch on Veronica's porch
In the city of Athens, Ga.