On Sunday when I go to church
I wear my dress that's trimmed with lace.
I sit beside my mother and
Am very quiet in my place.
When Dr. Brown is reading hymns
To make the people want to sing,
Or when he preaches loud and makes
The shivery bells begin to ring,
I watch the little pulpit house--
It isn't very tall or wide--
And then I wonder all about
The little ones that live inside.
When Dr. Brown has preached enough,
And when he is about to stop,
He stands behind the little house
And shuts the Bible on the top.
I wonder if they sit inside,
And if they cook and walk up stairs.
I wonder if they have a cat
And say some kind of little prayers.
I wonder if they're ever scared
Because the bedroom lamp goes out,
And what their little dreams are like
And what they wonder all about.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem