These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest, <br />Where all my tin soldiers are lying at rest, <br />Were gathered in Autumn by nursie and me <br />In a wood with a well by the side of the sea. <br /> <br />This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!) <br />By the side of a field at the end of the grounds. <br />Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own, <br />It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone! <br /> <br />The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey, <br />We discovered I cannot tell HOW far away; <br />And I carried it back although weary and cold, <br />For though father denies it, I'm sure it is gold. <br /> <br />But of all my treasures the last is the king, <br />For there's very few children possess such a thing; <br />And that is a chisel, both handle and blade, <br />Which a man who was really a carpenter made.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-treasures/
