The Poetry Corner

Children At Play

By William Henry Davies

I hear a merry noise indeed: Is it the geese and ducks that take Their first plunge in a quiet pond That into scores of ripples break, Or children make this merry sound? I see an oak tree, its strong back Could not be bent an inch though all Its leaves were stone, or iron even: A boy, with many a lusty call, Rides on a bough bareback through Heaven. I see two children dig a hole And plant in it a cherry-stone: "We'll come to-morrow," one child said, "And then the tree will be full grown, And all its boughs have cherries red." Ah, children, what a life to lead: You love the flowers, but when they're past No flowers are missed by your bright eyes; And when cold winter comes at last, Snowflakes shall be your butterflies.