How still the house when no child calls
As the velvet curtain of dusk slow falls,
With the sun's robe trailing still in the west
While all of the wild things seek their nest.
I flee from rooms too immaculate
With a yearning glance at the little white gate,
Wishing a small boy were swinging there,
That children's laughter would cleave the air
Too silent now ... Yet the silence speaks
Of five who came trooping with wild rose cheeks,
Their arms filled with bluebells, to wait in bliss
To receive my smile and thank-you kiss.
I walk through my gardens: Not a flower is crushed
By little feet. The breeze grows hushed
And the river's song is lonely-themed.
Though I have the leisure of which I dreamed,
When a killdeer-chime rings overhead,
I seek a child to put to bed.
