Now there is nothing wrong with me <br />Except - I think it's called T.B. <br />And that is why I have to lay <br />Out in the garden all the day. <br /> <br />Our garden is not very wide <br />And cars go by on either side, <br />And make an angry-hooty noise <br />That rather startles little boys. <br /> <br />But worst of all is when they take <br />Me out in cars that growl and shake, <br />With charabancs so dreadful-near <br />I have to shut my eyes for fear. <br /> <br />But when I'm on my back again, <br />I watch the Croydon aeroplane <br />That flies across to France, and sings <br />Like hitting thick piano-strings. <br /> <br />When I am strong enough to do <br />The things I'm truly wishful to, <br />I'll never use a car or train <br />But always have an aeroplane; <br /> <br />And just go zooming round and round, <br />And frighten Nursey with the sound, <br />And see the angel-side of clouds, <br />And spit on all those motor-crowds!<br /><br />cheyenne mccartney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-child-s-garden-2/
