This is the key to the playhouse
In the woods by the pebbly shore,
It's winter now, I wonder if
There's snow about the door?
I wonder if the fir trees tap
Green fingers on the pane,
If sea gulls cry and the roof is wet
And tinkle-y with rain?
I wonder if the flower-sprigged cups
And plates sit on their shelf,
And if my little painted chair
Is rocking by itself?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem