In summer, when the grass is thick, if Mother has the time, <br />She shows me with her pencil how a poet makes a rhyme, <br />And often she is sweet enough to choose a leafy nook, <br />Where I cuddle up so closely when she reads the Fairy-book. <br /> <br />In winter when the corn's asleep, and birds are not in song. <br />And crocuses and violets have been away too long, <br />Dear Mother puts her thimble by in answer to my look, <br />And I cuddle up so closely when she reads the Fairy-book. <br /> <br />And Mother tells the servants that of course they must contrive <br />To manage all the househod things from four till half-past five, <br />For we really cannot suffer interruption from the cook, <br />When we cuddle close together with the happy Fairy-book.<br /><br />Norman Rowland Gale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fairy-book/
