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Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Do you want to peep into Bedlam Town? Then come with me, when the day swings down, Into the cradle, whose rockers rim, Some people call the horizon dim. All the mischief of all the fates Seems to center in four little pates, Just one hour before we say, "It is time for bed now, stop your play." O, the racket and noise, and roar As they prance like a caravan over the floor, With never a thought of the head that aches, And never a heed to the "mercy sakes." And "Pity, save us," and "Oh! dear, dear," Which all but the culprits plainly hear. A dog, a parrot, a guinea hen, Warriors, elephants, Indian men, A salvation army, a grizzly bear, Are all at once in the nursery there. And when the clock in the hall strikes seven It sounds to us like a voice from heaven; And each of the elves in a warm nightgown, March away out of Bedlam Town.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
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