Now Grietje from her window sees the leafless poplars lean
Against a windy sunset sky with streaks of golden green;
The still canal is touched with light from that wild, wintry sky,
And, dark and gaunt, the windmill flings its bony arms on high.
“It’s growing late; it’s growing cold; I’m all alone,” says she;
“I’ll put the little kettle on, to make a cup of tea!”
Mild radiance from the porcelain stove reflects on shining tiles;
The kettle beams, so red and bright that Grietje thinks it smiles;
The kettle sings–so soft and low it seems as in a dream–
The song that’s like a lullaby, the pleasant song of steam:
“The summer’s gone; the storks are flown; I’m always here, you see,
To sing and sing, and shine, and shine, and make a cup of tea!”
The blue delft plates and dishes gleam, all ranged upon the shelf;
The tall Dutch clock tick-ticks away, just talking to itself;
The brindled pussy cuddles down, and basks and blinks and purrs;
And rosy, sleepy Grietje droops that snow-white cap of hers.
“I do like winter after all; I’m very glad,” says she,
“I put–my–little–kettle–on–to make–a cup–of–tea!”
(Helen Gray Cone)
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Based on Topics: Dreams Poems, Smiling Poems, Summer Poems, Tea PoemsBased on Keywords: storks, basks, cuddles, make-a, delft, put-my-little-kettle-on-to