In this frigid, ponderous rendering of the familiar rhyme, three
youngsters rig up a box-boat in an attic . . . which then
materializes into a cloud-borne craft outside . . . and finally
carries them back . . . to be discovered, sleeping, by their
parents. The children are pallid; the colors are uniformly,
deliberately drab; the whole has indeed an unhealthy, almost
spectral appearance - but not a jot of magic. Both the make-believe
and the sentimentality are better served by Barbara Cooney's
moon-lit transfiguration. (Kirkus Reviews)
In this bedtime poem, three fishermen in a wooden shoe catch stars in their nets of silver and gold.
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