Classic Poem

The Foxglove by the cottage door
Looks down on Joe, and Joe is four.

The Foxglove by the garden gate
Looks down on Joan, and Joan is eight.

“I'm glad we're small,” said Joan, “I love
To see inside the fox's glove,
Where taller people cannot see,
And all is ready for the bee;
The door is wide, the feast is spread,
The walls are dotted rosy red.”
“And only little people know
How nice it looks in there,” said Joe.
Said Joan, “The upper rooms are locked;
A bee went buzzing up—he knocked,
But no one let him in, so then
He bumbled gaily down again.”
“Oh dear!” sighed Joe, “if only we
Could grow as little as that bee,
We too might room by room explore
The Foxglove by the cottage door.”

The Foxglove by the garden gate
Looked down and smiled on Four and Eight.