The lazy sun is yawning, as it hides behind the town, For the Sleepy-Time is at hand; And cozy beds are calling, as the sun goes creeping down, To each little boy in the land. The organ-man is drowsy as he wanders down the street; The leaves are asleep on the tree; And the horses and the wagons and the little dogs you meet Are as sleepy as they can be. @3Your bed is calling to you, little John, Baby John! There's a sleepy chair beside it to hang your clothes upon. And I hear the cool sheets saying, "What means this long delaying? It is time you stopped your playing, Baby John!"@1 The chairs are all so tired that to use them is a sin, While the floor is asleep, no doubt, And the carpets are the bedclothes that snugly tuck it in— You'll wake it if you run about! I heard the cuckoo calling from the big clock in the hall— "Hurry up, little John!" it said; And the little clock is ticking, half asleep against the wall, "Go to bed! Go to bed! Go to bed!" @3Your bed is calling to you, little John, Baby John! There's a crinkley white pillow to rest your head upon. And the little dreams come creeping, I can see them slyly peeping To see if you are sleeping, Baby John.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOHNNY SPAIN'S WHITE HEIFER by HAYDEN CARRUTH O DREAMS, O DESTINATIONS by CECIL DAY LEWIS TO THE ROCK THAT WILL BE A CORNERSTONE OF THE HOUSE by ROBINSON JEFFERS FINIS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PRIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SEPARATION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN THE DAYS OF PRISMATIC COLOR by MARIANNE MOORE |