CHARLES W. JEROME
I have a sand bed, and I play
There in the sand for half the day.
And mother comes, and sits by me;
And little sister likes to see
The many things I make of sand.
But she's too young to understand
About the houses and the hills
The mines and stores and flouring mills
And then I make believe, and say
My sand bed is the sunny bay;
These blocks are boats, and far away
They sail all night and sail all day,
And carry iron. When they return
They bring us coal that we may burn.
And now my sand bed is a farm.
This is the barn. Here, safe from harm,
My horses and my cows I keep.
These sheds are for the wooly sheep.