Poem by Lesbia Harford

* * *

Child Sun
Why will you play Peep Bo
Now in, now out
The workroom window so?
True 'tis
That there are children here;
But they've no time
To play Peep Bo, my dear.

1. I can't feel the sunshine
2. You, whom the grave cannot bind
3. He had served eighty masters. They'd have said
4. I have golden shoes
5. O little year, cram full of duty

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