He gives a kiss and pulls a curl:
"Let's play you were my little girl,
And play you jump up on my back,
And play we run!" And clackity-clack,
We both go laughing up the stair!
(If I should fuss he'd say "No fair!")
And then he says, "Night, Sleepyhead."
It's fun, the game of Going-to-Bed.
The Game of Going-to-Bed
THE BALL
Close cuddled in my own two hands,
My big round ball with yellow bands!
They've filled my playroom up with toys—
Dolls, horses, things to make a noise,
Engines that clatter on a track,
And tip-carts that let down the back;
Arks, just like Noah's, with two and two
Of every animal he knew;
Whole rows of houses built of blocks,
A mouse that squeaks, a doll that talks,
But when the Sleepy Man comes by
And I'm too tired to want to try
To think of anything at all,
Here's my old, dear old, rubber ball.
Close cuddled in my own two hands,
My big round ball with yellow bands.