Years ago, when I was a little girl, I remember my mother reading me this poem. Its simplicity struck me.  Its meaning was attainable to me even at a young age and it was poignant to me then though I still do not know why.  

Thinking back, I believe that was the beginning of my love of poetry - the rhythm, the meter, the mystery, the misinterpretation.  The whole experience was magical to me.  So, in light of this memory I thought that I might post it to help us all remember the joy of words and the beauty they bring to our lives.

Bed In Summer

In winter I get up at night

and dress by yellow candle light.

In summer quite the other way

I have to go to bed by day

I have to go to bed and see

the birds still hopping in the trees

and hear the grown up people's feet

still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you

when all the sky is clear and blue

and I should like so much to play

to have to go to bed by day?

-Robert Louis Stevenson