Over the Fence

Sometimes when it's so late at night That everybody is fast asleep My room is a boxful of silver light With a shadowy cover, dark and deep.

I know it is only the old old moon Shining right in through the window pane, And I know that it will be morning soon;— But I'd rather go back to sleep again.

So first I think of a field of grain Running in ripples before the breeze And next I think of the soft grey rain Pattering down on the willow trees.

I remember the sound the pigeons make Over and over all the day long And if I grow wider and wider awake, Why then I think of the river's song.

But it's only when I start to count sheep Jumping a fence that is low and white That almost at once I fall asleep In my little boxful of silver light.