A Child's Garden

Now there is nothing wrong with me

Except — I think it's called T.B.

And that is why I have to lay

Out in the garden all the day.

Our garden is not very wide

And cars go by on either side,

And make an angry-hooty noise

That rather startles little boys.

But worst of all is when they take

Me out in cars that growl and shake,

With charabancs so dreadful-near

I have to shut my eyes for fear.

But when I'm on my back again,

I watch the Croydon aeroplane

That flies across to France, and sings

Like hitting thick piano-strings.

When I am strong enough to do

The things I'm truly wishful to,

I'll never use a car or train

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