Put to Bed

The sun is shining hot and bright,
The gardener’s mowing grass,
He’s doing it with all his might,
I hear his footsteps pass.

Nurse put me here in bed alone
Because I’ve not been good;
I think her heart is hard as stone—
I didn’t think she would.

I haven’t been so very bad,
I’ll tell you what I’ve done.
I took a pencil that I had,
A lovely orange one.

I drew a splendid pattern round
The dining room and hall,
And trees that grew up from the ground,
Right up the nursery wall.

I’d started on a giant’s head,
I know just how they’re made,
When Nurse came in, so cross and red,
It made me feel afraid.

I never had behaved, she said,
So wickedly before;
She made me go upstairs to bed,
And then she banged the door.

She took my toys and books and ball,
And all the bricks I’d built;
There’s nothing here that’s nice at all,
’Cept Grannie’s patchwork quilt!