A LITTLE bird sits on my window-sill And winks his eye at me and says, "Hello! Sick, are you? Why, whatever's wrong? I'm never sick, you know!" And, just at breakfast-time, in comes the Sun To make queer wiggly patterns on the wall And laugh and say, "Oh, lazy-bones, get up! @3You@1 are not sick @3at all!"@1 And when I shut my eyes I hear the brook Calling and calling as it hurries by— I @3can't@1 lie still! I'm hot and @3mis'rable@1— I'm 'fraid I've got to cry! The leaves just whisper, whisper all the time! The little clouds all hurry by so quick!— And nothing seems to care a speck about A little child that's sick! Oh! Here's the Wind! How cool his fingers are! He steals across the bed and feels my hands And my hot head, and doesn't say a word— I think @3he@1 understands! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE TO THE BROWN PAPER BAG by JAMES GALVIN HOPE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN I RISE UP by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SONG OF ETERNITY IN TIME by SIDNEY LANIER TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 1 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH SONG BY THE WINDOW BEFORE BED by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |