Sing a song of men’s pyjamas,
Half-past-six has got a pair,
And he’s wearing them this evening,
And he’s looking such a dear.

Sing a song of frocks with pockets
I have got one, it is so’s
I can use my `nitial hankies
Every time I blow my nose

Grant me the moment, the lovely moment
That I may lean forth to see
The other buds, the other blooms,
The other leaves on the tree:

That I may take into my bosom
The breeze that is like his brother,
But stiller, lighter, whose faint laughter
Exhoes the joy of the other.

Above on the blue and white cloud-spaces
There are small clouds at play.
I watch their remote, mysterious play-time
In the other far-away.

Grant I may hear the small birds singing
the song that the silence knows…
(The Light and the Shadow whisper together,
The lovely moment grows,

Ripples into the air like water
Away and away without sound,
And the little girl gets up from her praying
On the cold ground)

Come, let us all sing very high
And all sing very loud
And keep on singing in the street
Until there’s quite a crowd;

And keep on singing in the house
And up and down the stairs;
Then underneath the furniture
Let’s all play Polar bears;

And crawl about with doormats on,
And growl and howl and squeak,
Then in the garden let us fly
And play at hid and seek

And “Here we gather Nuts and May,”
“I wrote a Letter” too,
“Here we go round the Mulberry Bush,”
“The Child who lost its shoe″;

And every game we ever played.
And then–to stay alive–
Let’s end with lots of Birthday Cake
Because to-day you′re five

Babies must not eat the coal
And they must not make grimaces,
Nor in party dresses roll
And must never black their faces.

They must learn that pointing’s rude,
They must sit quite still at table,
And must always eat the food
Put before them–if they’re able.

If they fall, they must not cry,
Though it’s known how painful this is;
No–there’s always Mother by
Who will comfort them with kisses

I wish I had not got a cold,
The wind is big and wild,
I wish that I was very old,
Not just a little child.

Somehow the day is very long
Just keeping here, alone
I do not like the big wind’s song,
He’s growling for a bone

He’s like an awful dog we had
Who used to creep around
And snatch at things–he was so bad,
With just that horrid sound.

I’m sitting up and nurse has made
Me wear a woolly shawl;
I wish I was not so afraid;
It’s horrid to be small.

It really feels quite like a day
Since I have had my tea;
P’raps everybody’s gone away
And just forgotten me.

And oh! I cannot go to sleep
Although I am in bed.
The wind keeps going creepy-creep
And waiting to be fed