A Childs Garden

Now there is nothing wrong with

Except — I think it's called T.

B.

And that is why I have to

Out in the garden all the day.

Our garden is not very

And cars go by on either side,

And make an angry-hooty

That rather startles little boys.

But worst of all is when they

Me out in cars that growl and shake,

With charabancs so dreadful-nearI have to shut my eyes for fear.

But when I'm on my back again,

I watch the Croydon

That flies across to France, and

Like hitting thick piano-strings.

When I am strong enough to

The things I'm truly wishful to,

I'll never use a car or

But always have an aeroplane;

And just go zooming round and round,

And frighten Nursey with the sound,

And see the angel-side of clouds,

And spit on all those motor-crowds!

R.

L.

Stevenson