A Child’s Memory
By Jim Willis
Dear Santa, he wrote in his childish hand,
Bring me a bundle of toys.
A gun that will shoot, and a soldier suit,
And the same for the neighbor boys.
For we’re going to fight like gallant knights,
We’re going to glorious war.
I’ll need the things I’ve asked you to bring;
And maybe, even more...
The Children's Hour
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet...
Subscribe to the New PRS Journal to read on...
By Jim Willis
Dear Santa, he wrote in his childish hand,
Bring me a bundle of toys.
A gun that will shoot, and a soldier suit,
And the same for the neighbor boys.
For we’re going to fight like gallant knights,
We’re going to glorious war.
I’ll need the things I’ve asked you to bring;
And maybe, even more...
The Children's Hour
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet...
Subscribe to the New PRS Journal to read on...
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