When I was very little, I was given a small hardback book with soft cream paper and tipped with gold thread. The carvings delicate and sweet, illustrated the words to me.
Bed in Summer
In winter I get up at night,
and dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see,
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet,
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
By R.L. Stevenson
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