A CHILD'S THOUGHTS by ANNA BUNSTON DE BARY

I

WHEN I'm grown up and children talk a little,
I'll never say, "You drive me wild,"
Nor answer them, "Whatever next, I wonder!"
Nor yet, "Good Heavens, what a child!"

II

When I go to bed I think of the wood,
And the still, dark pond by the willows,
Where the moorhen sits on her islet of roots
With the cold, damp sticks for pillows.
She sits alone by the sleeping pool,
She looks at the sky and ponders,
She broods on her eggs and covers them all,
And looks at the sky and wonders—
She thinks the stars were the eggs of the moon,
And wonders to see them hatched so soon.

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