Lords
of
the
Nursery
Wait
in
a
row,
Five
on
the
high
wall,
And
four
on
the
low;
Big
Kings
and
Little
Kings,
Brown
Bears
and
Black,
All
of
them
waiting
Till
John
comes
back.
Some
think
that
John
boy
Is
lost
in
the
wood,
Some
say
he
couldn’t
be,
Some
say
he
could.
Some
think
that
John
boy
Hides
on
the
hill;
Some
say
he
won’t
come
back,
Some
say
he
will.
High
was
the
sun,
when
John
went
away
.
.
.
Here
they’ve
been
waiting
All
through
the
day;
Big
Bears
and
Little
Bears,
White
Kings
and
Black,
All
of
them
waiting
Till
John
comes
back.
Lords
of
the
Nursery
Looked
down
the
hill,
Some
saw
the
sheep-fold,
Some
say
the
mill;
Some
saw
the
roofs
Of
the
little
grey
town
.
.
.
And
their
shadows
grew
long
As
the
sun
slipt
down.
Gold
between
the
poplars
An
old
moon
shows;
Silver
up
the
star-way
The
full
moon
rose;
Silver
down
the
star-way
The
old
moon
crept
.
.
.
And,
one
by
another,
The
grey
fields
slept.
Lords
of
the
Nursery
Their
still
watch
keep
.
.
.
They
hear
from
the
sheep-fold
The
rustle
of
sheep.
A
young
bird
twitters
And
hides
its
head;
A
little
wind
suddenly
Breathes,
and
is
dead.
Slowly
and
slowly
Dawns
the
new
day
.
.
.
What’s
become
of
John
boy?
No
one
can
say.
Some
think
that
John
boy
Is
lost
on
the
hill;
Some
say
he
won’t
come
back,
Some
say
he
will.
What's
become
of
John
boy?
Nothing
at
all,
He
played
with
his
skipping
rope,
He
played
with
his
ball.
He
ran
after
butterflies,
Blue
ones
and
red;
He
did
a
hundred
happy
things—
And
then
went
to
bed.