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Poem by Christopher Morley
"The boy for whom Barrie wrote Peter Pan—the original of Peter Pan—has died in battle." —New York Times. And Peter Pan is dead? not so! When mothers turn the lights down low And tuck their little sons in bed, They know that Peter is not dead.... That little rounded blanket-hill; Those prayer-time eyes, so deep and still— However wise and great a man He grows, he still is Peter Pan. And mothers' ways are often queer: They pause in doorways, just to hear A tiny breathing; think a prayer; And then go tiptoe down the stair.
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