There in the early morning light pearls tremble on the meadow flowers，pearls drop on the grass，and pearls are scattered on the sand in spray by the wild sea-waves.
My brother shall have a pair of horses with wings to fly among the clouds.
For father I shall bring a magic pen that，without his knowing，will write of itself.
For you，mother，I must have the casket and jewel that cost seven kings their kingdoms.Sympathy
If I were only a little puppy，not your baby，mother dear，would you say “No”to me if I tried to eat from your dish？
Would you drive me off，saying to me，“Get away，you naughty little puppy？”
Then go，mother，go！I will never come to you when you call me，and never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot，and not your baby，mother dear，would you keep me chained lest I should fly away？
Would you shake your finger at me and say，“What an ungrateful wretch of a bird！It is gnawing at its chain day and night？”
Then，go，mother，go！I will run away into the woods；I will never let you take me in your arms again.
Vocation
When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our lane，
Everyday I meet the hawker crying，“Bangles，crystal bangles！”
There is nothing to hurry him on，there is no road he must take，no place he must go to，no time when he must come home.
I wish I were a hawker，spending my day in the road，crying，“Bangles，crystal bangles！”
When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school，
I can see through the gate of that house the gardener digging the ground.
He does what he likes with his spade，he soils his clothes with dust，nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun or gets wet.
I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden with nobody to stop me from digging.
Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me to bed，
I can see through my open window the watchman walking up and down.
The lane is dark and lonely and the street-lamp stands like a giant with one red eye in its head.
The watchman swings his lantern and walks with his shadow at his side，and never once goes to bed in his life.
I wish I were a watchman walking the streets all night，chasing the shadows with my lantern.
Superior
Mother，your baby is silly！She is so absurdly childish！
She does not know the difference between the lights in the streets and the stars.
When we play at eating with pebbles，she thinks they are real food，and tries to put them into her mouth.
When I open a book before her and ask her to learn her a，b，c，she tears the leaves with her hands and roars for joy at nothing；this is your baby's way of doing her lesson.
When I shake my head at her in anger and scold her and call her naughty，she laughs and thinks it great fun.
Everybody knows that father is away，but，if in play I call aloud “Father，”she looks about her in excitement and thinks that father is near.
When I hold my class with the donkeys that our washerman brings to carry away the clothes and I warn her that I am the school-master，she will scream for no reason and call me dādā.
Your baby wants to catch the moon.She is so funny；she calls Ganesh Gānush.
Mother，your baby is silly，she is so absurdly childish！
The Little Big Man
I am small because I am a little child.I shall be big when I am as old as my father is.
My teacher will come and say，“It is late，bring your slate and your books.”
I shall tell him，“Do you not know I am as big as father？And I must not have lessons any more.”
My master will wonder and say，“He can leave his books if he likes，for he is grown up.”
I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is thick.
My uncle will come rushing up to me and say，“You will get lost，my boy；let me carry you.”
I shall answer，“Can't you see，uncle，I am as big as father？I must go to the fair alone.”
Uncle will say，“Yes，he can go wherever he likes，for he is grown up.”
Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my nurse，for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
Mother will say，“What are you about，naughty child？”
I shall tell her，“Mother，don't you know，I am as big as father，and I must give silver to my nurse.”
Mother will say to herself，“He can give money to whom he likes，for he is grown up.”
In the holiday time in October father will come home and，thinking that I am still a baby，will bring for me from the town little shoes and small silken frocks.
I shall say，“Father，give them to my dādā，for I am as big as you are.”
Father will think and say，“He can buy his own clothes if he likes，for he is grown up.”
Twelve o clock
Mother，I do want to leave off my lessons now.I have been at my book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock.Suppose it isn't any later；can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve o'clock？
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of that rice-field，and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing darker under the madar tree，and the water in the pond looks shiny black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night，why can't the night come when it is twelve o'clock？
Authorship
You say that father writes a lot of books，but what he writes I don't understand.
He was reading to you all the evening，but could you really make out what he meant？
What nice stories，mother，you can tell us！Why can't father write like that，I wonder？
Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and fairies and princesses？
Has he forgotten them all？
Often when he gets late for his bath you have to go and call him an hundred times.
You wait and keep his dishes warm for him，but he goes on writing and forgets.
Father always plays at making books.
If ever I go to play in father's room，you come and call me，“What a naughty child！”
If I make the slightest noise，you say，“Don't you see that father's at his work？”
What's the fun of always writing and writing？
When I take up father's pen or pencil and write upon his book just as he does，—a，b，c，d，e，f，g，h，i，—why do you get cross with me，then，mother？
You never say a word when father writes.
