 | Short poems for short people |  |
42
UNDER THE BED-CLOTHES.
I would give so much now if I'd only
Obliged dear mamma, and not read
That horrible ghost-story. Gracious!
How strangely it runs in my head!
Obliged dear mamma, and not read
That horrible ghost-story. Gracious!
How strangely it runs in my head!
I've crept deep down under the bed-clothes,
I'm trying as hard as I can
To care not a bit for the darkness,
But just go to sleep like a man.
I'm trying as hard as I can
To care not a bit for the darkness,
But just go to sleep like a man.
The story was nonsense, I'm certain;
Such things never happen, oh no;
How queer that I should n't believe it,
And yet should be shivering so!
Such things never happen, oh no;
How queer that I should n't believe it,
And yet should be shivering so!
I 've counted a hundred and fifty,
But that does n't alter my fright.
I 'd rather have twenty good whippings
Than pass through another such night!
But that does n't alter my fright.
I 'd rather have twenty good whippings
Than pass through another such night!
Of course I deserve to feel frightened:
Mamma was so careful to say:
“Remember, don't touch this book, Johnny,”
The morning she put it away.
Mamma was so careful to say:
“Remember, don't touch this book, Johnny,”
The morning she put it away.
43
And then like a bad, silly fellow,
I read it all through on the sly—
Forgetting what God did to Adam
When he disobeyed, by the bye.
I read it all through on the sly—
Forgetting what God did to Adam
When he disobeyed, by the bye.
| Short poems for short people | |