My Visitors by Ruth Collie

At Dawn a little rhyme appeared and whispered: "Take me, pray. " "Oh, / little rhyme," I softly jeered, "I bid you run away. You've sleepy / eyes and child-like grace. I want a rhyme with thoughtful face. " At / Noon there came a little rhyme, and lisped: "Do listen, please! " / Said I "Not now. I have no time. Now, little rhyme, don't tease. / At Twelve-Hours-Old you are not strong to bear the burden of a song. " / Three little rhymes arrived at night, and sat beside my fire. I / welcomed them with great delight, and asked them their desire. / "We're knocking at your heart," they cried. "Oh, won't you let us / slip inside? " In turn I looked at each small face. I recognized / each one. For here was Dawn of child-like grace, and Noon of work / half-done, and weary Night. I bid them stay, for they made up the / Song of Day.