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1865–1940

Playgrounds

Laurence Alma-Tadema

In summer I am very glad We children are so small, For we can see a thousand things That men can n't see at all.

They do n't know much about the moss And all the stones they pass: They never lie and play among The forests in the grass:

They walk about a long way off; And, when we're at the sea, Let father stoop as best he can He can n't find things like me.

But, when the snow is on the ground And all the puddles freeze, I wish that I were very tall, High up above the trees....

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Playgrounds · Laurence Alma-Tadema · Poetry Cove