THE SOLITARY SLEEPER
Behold her, lying in the cot
Yon solitary loveable lass
Turning and dreaming in her
sleep;
Stop here or gently pass!
Alone she sleeps as serene
as can be
And thinks of naught as yet
Waking, with peals of
laughter
The mischief for the day is
set.
No nightingale did ever
chaunt
More chirpy trills to her ecstatic
folk;
No chubby feet did tread the
floor
Amidst gurgles, rhymes and
chokes.
Will no one tell us what she
sings?
Perhaps the wordless mumbles
flow
For a world so fresh and
wonderful
For her to live and grow!
Whatever the theme, the baby
cooed
As if her song could have no
ending;
We saw her chirping, loud
and clear
And o’er the windowsill
bending.
We listened, motionless and
still
Without a sound did we
tiptoe,
The music in our heart we
bore
Long after it was heard no
more.
159 words
Such a sweet poem. I am sure Wordsworth will not mind.
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