Monday Poetry

Bed in Summer

Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night  
And dress by yellow candle-light.  
In summer, quite the other way,  
I have to go to bed by day.  

I have to go to bed and see         
The birds still hopping on the tree,  
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet  
Still going past me in the street.  

And does it not seem hard to you,  
When all the sky is clear and blue,  
And I should like so much to play,  
To have to go to bed by day?


By Billie Daddario

Abandoned all the play things

I was one of those little things

you flung in the corner for

nanny to pick up.

I loved you once

but you grew to

love other things.

Things outside my grasp

you out grew me

or did I outgrow you?

It doesn’t hurt

like a broken heart,

instead it feels like a

slap in the face,

soon enough forgotten.

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