There's a tiny hat as well,
Made of lace with crumpled strings;
And the teeny-weeny bibs
Are such darling things!
Lavender is here and there
In the cosy little drawer;
And I beg to look again,
Just a little more!
"Why does Mother keep them all?"
But she only strokes my hand:
When I'm big as Mother dear
I shall understand!
Mother and the Dark
When Mother tucks me up in bed and kisses me good-night
I often wish she'd leave the lamp a weeny bit alight,
For whispers seem to float about and little shadows creep,
And though I try so very hard I cannot go to sleep!
The pillow gets into a lump and sticks into my head,
The bedclothes go and twist themselves and tumble off the bed;
There was a biscuit that I ate (I saved it from my tea),
And every tiny little crumb seems sticking into me!
I see the Dark come riding by—he looks so big and tall,
And when I think I am asleep I'm not asleep at all;
And so I pull the bedclothes up and tuck them round my chin
To stop the little bits of Dark from trying to get in.
But somehow all the horrid clothes seem slipping off from me,
The silly counterpane is where the blanket ought to be;
I pull and pull like anything to get them round my feet,
But all that I can find is just a little bit of sheet!
But somebody is at the door, for I can see her peep,
And somebody is whispering, "Is little Boy asleep?"
And Mother comes and tucks me up and drives the Dark away,
For Dark and mothers can't agree, whatever you may say!