Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941 / Calcutta (Kolkata), Bengal Presidency / British India)
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
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
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
Comments about this poem (Twelve O'Clock by Rabindranath Tagore )
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