Bed in Summer
Robert Louis Stevenson
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 on the tree,
Or 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?
Rushes in a watery place,
And reeds in a hollow;
A soaring skylark in the sky,
A darting swallow:
And where pale blosson used to hang
Ripe fruit to follow.
More Than Enough
The first lily of June opens its red mouth.
All over the sand road where we walk
multiflora rose climbs trees cascading
white or pink blossoms, simple, intense
the scene drifting like colored mist.
The arrowhead is spreading its creamy
clumps of flower and the blackberries
are blooming in the thickets. Season of
joy for the bee. The green will never
again be so green, so purely and lushly
new, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads
into the wind. Rich fresh wine
of June, we stagger into you smeared
with pollen, overcome as the turtle
laying her eggs in roadside sand.
Here is the 2017 shortlist:
- Booked by Kwame Alexander
- Wonderland: Alice in Poetry Ed. Michaela Morgan
- Moon Juice by Kate Wakeling, illus. Elina Braslina
- Jelly Boots, Smelly Boots by Michael Rosen, illus. David Tazzyman
- Zim Zam Zoom! by James Carter, illus. Nicola Colton
The winner will be announced on 14 July 2017 at the National Theatre, London
See more at:
Hurt No Living Thing
Hurt no living thing,
Ladybird nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper, so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat,
Nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.