Childhood

The Swing

9/29/2019

The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,
     Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
     Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
     Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
     Over the countryside -

Till I look down on the garden green,
     Down on the roof so brown -
Up in the air I go flying again,
     Up in the air and down!

Come and swing and play with me.
     For youth is innocence,
And we are both free
     To live and dream and be.

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850 in Edinburgh, Scotland. He became an essayist, a novelist, a travel writer, a poet, and a lyricist. He is known as the author of the adventure novels “Treasure Island” (1883) and “Kidnapped” (1886), the science fiction novel, “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” (1886), and the poetry collection, “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885), all of which remain popular even now with readers of all ages. Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson passed on at 44 years of age on 3 December 1894 in Vailima, Samoan Islands.

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Being Brave at Night

8/31/2019

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Being Brave at Night

The other night ’bout two o’clock, or maybe it was three,
     An elephant with shining tusks came chasing after me.
His trunk was wavin’ in the air an’ spoutin’ jets of steam
     An’ he was out to eat me up, but still I didn’t scream
Or let him see that I was scared - a better thought I had,
     I just escaped from where I was and crawled in bed with dad.

One time there was a giant who was horrible to see,
     He had three heads and twenty arms, an’ he came after me
And red hot fire came from his mouths and every hand was red
     And he declared he’d grind my bones and make them into bread.
But I was just too smart for him, I fooled him might bad,
     Before his hands could collar me I crawled in bed with dad.

I ain’t scared of nothin’ that comes pesterin’ me at night.
     Once I was chased by forty ghosts all shimmery an’ white.
An’ I just raced ’em round the room an’ let ’em think maybe
     I’d have to stop an’ rest awhile, when they could capture me.
Then when they leapt onto my bed, Oh Gee! but they were mad
     To find that I had slipped away an’ crawled in bed with dad.

No giants, ghosts or elephants have dared to come in there
     ’Coz if they did he’d beat ’em up and chase ’em to their lair.
They just hang ’round the children’s rooms an’ snap an’ snarl an’ bite
     An’ laugh if they can make ’em yell for help with all their might.
But I don’t ever yell out loud. I’m not that sort of lad,
     I slip from out the covers and I crawl in bed with dad.

by Edgar A. Guest: “Rhymes of Childhood” (1924)

Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.

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Childhood and Children

8/27/2019

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“Every child should have mud pies, grasshoppers, water-bugs, tadpoles, frogs, mud-turtles, elderberries, wild strawberries, acorns, chestnuts, trees to climb, brooks to wade in, water-lilies, woodchucks, bats, bees, butterflies, various animals to pet, hay-fields, pine-cones, rocks to roll, sand, snakes, huckleberries, and hornets; and any child who has been deprived of these has been deprived of the best part of his education.” -Luther Burbank (1849 - 1926): “Training of the Human Plant” (1907)

"Simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.” -Author Unknown

“Keeping in touch with childhood memories keeps us believing in life’s simplest pleasures, like a rainy afternoon, a swing-set, and a giant puddle to play in.” -Chrissy Ogden

Children have always been around, but the concept of childhood, as we know it now, is a relatively new one in human history. It began in the mid-twentieth century, when childhood was emphasized as an important time to play and imagine. Prior to then, childhood was a period of surviving the harshness of existence long enough to reach young adulthood, with an emphasis on learning skills such as hunting and gathering, or in more complex civilizations, skills needed to earn a living and participate in a society.

Children laugh about 400 times a day, while adults laugh on average only 15 times a day. Are children having too much fun - or are adults far too serious?

“Truly wonderful the mind of a child is.” -Yoda: in “Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones” (16 May 2002)

“There are children playing in the streets who could solve some of my top problems in physics, because they have modes of sensory perception that I lost long ago.” -J. Robert Oppenheimer (Julius Robert Oppenheimer (1904 - 1967))

“Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.” -John Betjeman: “Summoned by Bells”

Children grow faster in the springtime than any other season during the year.

Billy: Can youngsters learn to fly jet airplanes?
Bobby: Yes, but they have to use training wheels!

“As a child my family’s menu consisted of two choices: take it or leave it.” -Buddy Hackett

“A three-year-old child is a being who gets almost as much fun out of a fifty-six dollar set of swings as it does out of finding a small green worm.” -Burton Hillis (pseudonym of William E. ‘Bill’ Vaughan (1915 - 1977))

“Childhood is that time of life when anything is possible.” -Author Unknown

“Six-year-old announces plans to become ballerina gymnast veterinarian horseback-riding princess.” -Author Unknown: “The Onion”

“When I was a kid my parents used to tell me, “Don’t go near the cellar door, Emo!” One day when they were away, I went to the door and opened it . . . and I saw birds and trees.” -Emo Philips (born Philip Soltanec (born 1956))

Toddler Rules

If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it is food, it must not be tasted.
If it is Mommy, it must be hugged.

by Author Unknown

“A happy childhood is the best horseshoe nail.” -Author Unknown

“I was forced to live far beyond my years when just a child, now I have reversed the order and I intend to remain young indefinitely.” -Mary Pickford (born Gladys Louise Smith, also known as Gladys Marie Pickford (1893 - 1979))

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Wisdom from Children

“Never trust a dog to watch your food.” -Patrick, 10 years of age

“When your dad is mad and asks you, ‘Do I look stupid?’ - don’t answer.” -Hannah, 9 years of age

“Never tell your mom her diet’s not working.” -Michael, 14 years of age

“If life gives you nothing but lemons, make up a better shopping list for it.” -Steven, 8 years of age

“When your Mom is mad at your dad, don’t let her brush your hair.” -Jennifer, 11 years of age

“Never leave your three-year old brother in the same room as your school
assignment.” -Tracy, 14 years of age

“Never hold a hand-held vacuum cleaner and a cat at the same time.” -Katherine, 11 years of age

“You can’t hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk.” -Aaron, 9 years of age

“If you want a kitten, start out by asking for a horse.” -Nancy, 15 years of age

“Felt-tip markers are not good to use as lipstick.” -Laura, 9 years of age

“When you get a bad grade in school, show it to your Mom when she’s on
the phone.” -Jill, 13 years of age

“Laugh and the world laughs with you; cry and the world laughs at you.” -Robert, 8 years of age

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“Childhood is that state which ends the moment a puddle is first viewed as an obstacle instead of an opportunity.” -Kathy Williams (1964 - 1996)

“I love child things because there’s so much mystery when you’re a child. When you’re a child, something as simple as a tree doesn’t make sense. You see it in the distance and it looks small, but as you go closer, it seems to grow - you haven’t got a handle on the rules when you’re a child. We think we understand the rules when we become adults but what we really experienced is a narrowing of the imagination.” -David Lynch

“Children despise their parents until the age of forty, when they suddenly become just like them, thus preserving the system.” -Quentin Crewe

“Some people seem as if they can never have been children, and others seem as if they could never be anything else.” -George D. Prentice (George Dennison Prentice (1802 - 1870)): “Prenticeana” (1860)

“I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother and father.” -Greg Norman

“A lot of children think their parents are all-no-ing.” -Author Unknown

“Children are happy because they don’t have a file in their minds called ‘All the Things That Could Go Wrong.’” -Marianne Williamson (born in July 1952)

Whole Duty of Children

A child should always say what’s true,
And speak when he is spoken to;
And behave mannerly at table,
At least as far as he is able.

by Robert Louis Stevenson (Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (1850 - 1894)): “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885)

“Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.” -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (Antoine Marie Jean-Baptiste Roger (1900 - 1944)): “The Little Prince” (1943)

“It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.” -Tom Robbins (Thomas Eugene ‘Tom’ Robbins (born 1932)): “Still Life with Woodpecker” (October 1980)

This is MFOL! . . . for the child in all of us, who still feels, smells, tastes, hears, and sees the wonder of it all . . .

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The Things I Do

7/28/2019

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The Things I Do

I’m very good at climbing
     I nearly climbed a tree
But just as I was almost up
     I sort of skinned my knee.

I’m wonderful at walking
     I almost walked a mile
But when I got around the block
     I rested for a while.

I’m excellent at swimming
     Though I’m not very old
I almost swam the ocean
     But the water was too cold.

But what I’m really best at
     Is skipping down the hall.
I’m very good at skipping.
     I’m wonderful at skipping.

I’m marvelous at skipping.
     That is unless I fall.

by Karla Kuskin

Karla Kuskin, who sometimes wrote under the pseudonym Nicholas J. Charles, was born as Karla Seidman on 17 July 1932 in New York City, New York, United States of America. She became a writer, a poet, and an illustrator of children’s literature. Karla Kuskin passed on at 77 years of age on 20 August 2009 in Seattle, Washington, United States of America.

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Little Raindrops

7/28/2019

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Little Raindrops

Oh, where do you come from,
     You little drops of rain,
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
     Down the window pane?

They won’t let me walk,
     And they won’t let me play,
And they won’t let me go
     Out of doors at all today.

They put away my playthings.
     Because I broke them all,
And then they locked up all my bricks,
     And took away my ball.

Tell me, little raindrops,
     Is that the way you play,
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
     All the rainy day?

They say I’m very naughty,
     But I’ve nothing else to do
But sit here at the window;
     I should like to play with you.

The little raindrops cannot speak,
     But ‘pitter patter pat’
Means, “We can play on this side,
     Why can’t you play on that?”

by Aunt Effie

Jane Euphemia Saxby, also known by the pseudonym Aunt Effie, was born as Jane Euphemia Browne on 27 January 1811 in Bridekirk, Cumberland, England. She was married to Stephen Henry Saxby in 1862. She became a hymn writer and a poet. Her published works include, “The Dove on the Cross” (1849), “Aunt Effie’s Rhymes for Little Children” (1852), “The Voice of the Bird” (1875), and “Aunt Effie’s Gift to the Nursery” (1876). Jane Euphemia Saxby passed on at 87 years of age on 25 March 1898 in Bedminster, Somerset, England.

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Two Wheels

7/27/2019

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Two Wheels

I told you I won’t.
     It’s too hard.
I told you I can’t.
     It’s too hard.

Didn’t I tell you?
     My feet, they won’t reach.
My hands, they won’t steer.
     It’s too hard.

Watch out - I’m tipping.
     Don’t let go - I’m falling.
Please; I give up.
     Not so fast, not so fast.

I don’t like this.
     Stop, stop, stop, stop.
Hey, I can’t stop.
     Hey, I’m riding, I’m riding.

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.
     Did you see me?
What did I tell you?
     It was easy.

by Author Unknown

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Riding a Two-Wheeled Bike

5/17/2019

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Riding a Two-Wheeled Bike

I can’t believe I’m doing this!
     I’m riding on two wheels!
Why, it was only yesterday
     My bike had training wheels!

My parents’ said, “You’re ready now.”
      “OK,” I said, “I’ll try.”
My daddy ran and held the seat
     While mommy said, “Let’s fly!”

I’m peddling really fast now.
     The wind is in my hair.
I feel as if I’m flying high
     Two-wheeling through the air!

by Author Unknown

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Do Your Best

4/1/2019

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Do Your Best

Do your best, your very best,
     And do it every day.
Little boys and little girls,
     That is the wisest way.

Whatever work comes to your hand,
     At home or at your school,
Do your best with right good will;
     It is the golden rule.

For he who always does his best,
     His best will better grow;
But he who shirks or slights his task,
     Lets all the better go.

What if your lesson should be hard?
     You need not yield to sorrow,
For he who bravely works to-day,
     His task grows bright to-morrow.

by Author Unknown

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Every Child Should Know a Hill

3/29/2019

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Every Child Should Know a Hill

Every child should know a hill,
And the clean joy of running down its long slope
With the wind in his hair.
He should know a tree . . .
The comfort of its cool lap of shade,
And the supple strength of its arms
Balancing him between earth and sky
So he is a creature of both.

He should know bits of singing water . . .
The strange mysteries of its depths,
And the long sweet grasses that border it.

Every child should know some scrap
Of uninterrupted sky, to shout against;
And have one star, dependable and bright,
For wishing on.

by Edna Casler Joll (1944)

Edna May Joll was born as Edna May Casler on 1 February 1908 in South Dakota, United States of America. She was married to John Kenneth ‘Kenny’ Joll. She became a children’s poetry writer. Edna May Joll passed on at 55 years of age on 25 September 1963 in Ada County, Idaho, United States of America.

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Going to Bed

2/28/2019

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Going to Bed

I’m always told to hurry up -
     Which I’d be glad to do,
If there were not so many things
     That need attending to.

But first I have to find my towel
     Which fell behind the rack,
And when a pillow’s thrown at me
     I have to throw it back.

And then I have to get the things
     I need in bed with me.
Like marbles and my birthday train
     And Pete the chimpanzee.

I have to see my polliwog
     Is safely in its pan,
And stand a minute on my head
     To be quite sure I can.

I have to bounce upon my bed
     To see if it will sink,
And then when I am covered up
     I find I need a drink.

by Marchette Chute

Marchette Gaylord Chute was born on 16 August 1909 in Wayzata, Minnesota, United States of America. She became a biographer, a fiction writer, and a poet. Marchette Gaylord Chute passed on at 84 years of age on 6 May 1994 in Montclair, New Jersey, United States of America.

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Me

2/22/2019

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Me

I have 10 little fingers
And 10 little toes,
2 little arms,
And 1 little nose.
1 little mouth,
And 2 little ears,
2 little eyes
For smiles and for tears.
1 little head
And 2 little feet,
1 little chin -
That’s me!
I’m complete.

by Author Unknown

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Never Quite Just Right

1/29/2019

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Never Quite Just Right

They say I’m too young,
     to cross the street to play.
That I’m too old to cry,
     when I don’t get my way.

That I am much to big,
     to swing on the garden gate.
But very much too small,
     to stay up after eight.

I’m young, I’m old,
     I’m big, I’m small -
Do you ever think, in age and height,
     I will ever grow to be just right?

by Author Unknown

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Dress Up

1/27/2019

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Dress Up

Lipstick on my lips
and blush on my cheeks.
This is a game I love to play,
and one I could play for weeks.

Wearing mother’s big black shoes
and necklace of white pearl,
which comes complete with a dress
that flows as I twirl.
A special purse that I have filled with
so many treasures it’s hard for me to hold.
And I must not forget a big
fuzzy coat, just in case it’s cold.

My dress-up would not be through
without a set of keys,
and with this my wardrobe is complete
and I am very pleased.

by Wendy Silva

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Babies Have so Much to Do

1/26/2019

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Babies Have so Much to Do

In a world that’s all brand-new,
Babies have so much to do!

Laughing, making funny faces,
Finding out those ticklish places . . .

Cuddling up and wiggling toes,
Looking cute in tiny clothes . . .

Tasting, touching, reaching high,
Crawling under, scooting by . . .

Learning words and having fun . . .
Making memories one by one.

by Author Unknown

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At the Playground

1/25/2019

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At the Playground

Away down deep and away up high,
     a swing drops you into the sky.
Back, it draws you away down deep,
     forth, it flings you in a sweep
All the way to the stars and back -
     goodbye, Jill; goodbye, Jack;
Shuddering climb wild and steep,
     away up high, away down deep.

by William Stafford

William Edgar Stafford was born on 17 January 1914 in Hutchinson, Kansas, United States of America. He became a poet. William Edgar Stafford passed on at 79 years of age on 28 August 1993 in Lake Oswego, Oregon, United States of America.

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A Good Boy

12/22/2018

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A Good Boy

I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,
     I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.

And now at last the Sun is going down behind the wood,
     And I am very happy, for I know that I’ve been good.

My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair,
     And I must be off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer.

I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise,
     No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes.

But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn,
     And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850 in Edinburgh, Scotland. He became an essayist, a novelist, a travel writer, a poet, and a lyricist. He is known as the author of the adventure novels “Treasure Island” (1883) and “Kidnapped” (1886), the science fiction novel, “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” (1886), and the poetry collection, “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885), all of which remain popular even now with readers of all ages. Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson passed on at 44 years of age on 3 December 1894 in Vailima, Samoan Islands.

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I Like to Play Dress-Up

12/12/2018

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I Like to Play Dress-Up

I like to play dress-up,
     It’s my favorite thing,
A pocketbook, a high heel,
     A fanciful ring.
It may be a date, a party, or prom,
     or maybe I want to pretend that I’m mom.
Whoever I am it’s very plain to see,
     I like to play dress-up and I like being me.

by Kerrie Wade

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My Teddy Bear

12/11/2018

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My Teddy Bear

I have a little teddy bear
     He’s old as he can be.
Though I squash him when I sleep at night
     I think he’s fond of me.

His eyes are hanging by a thread
     His stuffing’s coming out,
But still he sits upon my bed
     And never seems to pout.

He comforts me when I am sad
     He gives me good advice.
I think my little teddy bear
     Is awfully awfully nice.

by Author Unknown

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Good Night and Good Morning

11/28/2018

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Good Night and Good Morning

A fair little girl sat under a tree,
     Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work and folded it right,
     And said, “Dear work, good night, good night!”

Such a number of rooks came over her head,
     Crying “Caw, caw!” on their way to bed.
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
      “Little black things, good night, good night!”

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed,
     The sheep’s “bleat, bleat!” came over the road;
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
      “Good little girl, good night, good night!”

She did not say to the sun, “Good night!”
     Though she saw him there like a ball of light,
For she knew he had God’s time to keep
     All over the world, and never could sleep.

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head;
     The violets curtsied and went to bed;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
     And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.

And while on her pillow she softly lay,
     She knew nothing more till again it was day;
And all things said to the beautiful sun,
      “Good morning, good morning! our work is begun.”

by Lord Houghton

Richard Monckton Milnes, also known as 1st Baron Houghton or Lord Houghton, was born on 19 June 1809 in London, England. He became a poet, a patron of literature, and a politician. Richard Monckton Milnes passed on at 76 years of age on 11 August 1885 in Vichy, France.

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My Shadow

11/27/2018

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My Shadow

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
     And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
     And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest things about him is the way he likes to grow-
     Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India rubber ball,
     And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,
     And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see;
     I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
     I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an errant sleepy-head,
     Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

by Robert Louis Stevenson: “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885)

Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850 in Edinburgh, Scotland. He became an essayist, a novelist, a travel writer, a poet, and a lyricist. He is known as the author of the adventure novels “Treasure Island” (1883) and “Kidnapped” (1886), the science fiction novel, “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” (1886), and the poetry collection, “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885), all of which remain popular even now with readers of all ages. Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson passed on at 44 years of age on 3 December 1894 in Vailima, Samoan Islands.

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Now We Are Six

11/24/2018

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Now We Are Six

When I was One,
     I had just begun.
When I was Two,
     I was nearly new.
When I was Three
     I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
     I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
     But now I am Six,
I’m as clever as clever,
     So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

by A. A. Milne

Alan Alexander Milne, also known as A. A. Milne, was born on 18 January 1882 in Kilburn, London, England. He became a novelist, a playwright, a poet, and a children’s book author. He is known as the author of “Winnie the Pooh” (1926). Alan Alexander Milne passed on at 74 years of age on 31 January 1956 in Hartfield, Sussex, England.

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Every Time I Climb a Tree

11/5/2018

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Every Time I Climb a Tree

Every time I climb a tree
Every time I climb a tree
Every time I climb a tree
I scrape a leg
Or skin a knee
And every time I climb a tree
I find some ants
Or dodge a bee
And get the ants
All over me.

And every time I clime a tree
Where have you been?
They say to me
But don’t they know that I am free?

I like it best
To spot a nest
That has an egg
Or maybe three.

And then I skin
The other leg
But every time I climb a tree
I see a lot of things to see
Swallows, rooftops, and TV

And all the fields and farms there be
Every time I climb a tree
Though climbing may be good for ants
It isn’t awfully good for pants
But still it’s pretty good for me
Every time I climb a tree.

by David McCord: “Every Time I Climb a Tree” (June 1967); type of work: collected poems by a single author in book form

David Thompson Watson McCord was born on 15 December 1897 in New York City, New York, United States of America. He was a poet, and a college fundraiser as the executive director for the Harvard College Fund. Two of his collections of poems in book form are “The Star in the Pail” (1976) and “One at a Time” (1978). David Thompson Watson McCord passed on at 99 years of age on 13 April 1997 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America.

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Little Fred

10/31/2018

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Little Fred

When little Fred
     Was called to bed,
He always acted right;
     He kissed Mama,
And then Papa,
     And wished them all good-night.

He made no noise,
     Like naughty boys,
But gently up the stairs
     Directly went,
When he was sent,
     And always said his prayers.

by Author Unknown

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Perseverance

10/14/2018

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Perseverance

Dear Polly, these are joyful days!
     Your feet can choose their own sweet ways;
You have no care of anything.
     Free as a swallow on the wing,
You hunt the hay-field over
     To find a four-leaved clover.

But this I tell you, Polly dear,
     One thing in life you need not fear:
Bad luck, I’m certain, never haunts
     A child who works for what she wants,
And hunts a hay-field over
     To find a four-leaved clover!

The little leaf is not so wise
     As it may seem in foolish eyes;
But then, dear Polly, don’t you see,
     Since you were willing carefully
To hunt the hay-field over,
     You found your four-leaved clover!

Your patience may have long to wait,
     Whether in little things or great,
But all good luck, you soon will learn,
     Must come to those who nobly earn.
Who hunts the hay-field over
     Will find the four-leaved clover.

by Sarah Orne Jewett: as published in “St. Nicholas Magazine” (September 1883), page 840

Sarah Orne Jewett was born on 3 September 1849 in South Berwick, Maine, United States of America. She became a novelist, a short story writer, and a poet. Sarah Orne Jewett passed on at 59 years of age on 24 June 1909 in South Berwick, Maine, United States of America.

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My Footprints

10/10/2018

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My Footprints

Someday I’ll jump through puddles,
     take a stroll or run a race.
Someday I’ll walk across the street
     or maybe walk in space.
Someday I’ll scale a mountain
     or I’ll join a ballet corps.
Someday I’ll walk a tightrope
     or explore the ocean floor.
Someday these feet will do some things
     that only Heaven knows,
but for today they’re happy,
     just to wiggle all their toes!

by Author Unknown

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