Kiver up yo' haid, my little lady, Hyeah de win' a-blowin' out o' do's. Don' you kick, ner projick wid de comfo't, Less'n fros'll bite yo' little toes. Shut yo' eyes, an' snuggle up to mammy; Gi' me bofe yo' han's, I hol' 'em tight; Don' you be afeard, an' 'mence to trimble Des ez soon ez I blows out de light. Angels is a-mindin' you, my baby, Keepin' off de Bad Man in de night. Whut de use o' bein' skeered o' nuffin'? You don' fink de da'kness gwine to bite? Whut de crackin' soun' you hyeah erroun' you? -- Lawsy, chile, you tickles me to def! -- Dat's de man what brings de fros', a-paintin' Picters on de winder wid his bref. Mammy ain' afeard, you hyeah huh laffin'? Go' way, Mistah Fros', you can't come in; Baby ain' erceivin' folks dis evenin', Reckon dat you'll have to call ag'in. Curl yo' little toes up so, my possum -- Umph, but you's a cunnin' one fu' true! -- Go to sleep, de angels is a-watchin', An' yo' mammy's mindin' of you, too. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO WHISTLER, AMERICAN; ON LOAN EXHIBIT OF PAINTINGS AT TATE GALLERY by EZRA POUND THE WANING MOON by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE HEATH-COCK by JOANNA BAILLIE ENOUGH by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN |