Now We Are Six/Forgotten

by Alan Alexander Milne

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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 NurseryLooked down the hill,Some saw the sheep-fold,Some saw the mill;Some saw the roofsOf the little grey town . . .And their shadows grew longAs the sun slipt down.

Gold between the poplarsAn old moon shows;Silver up the star-wayThe full moon rose;Silver down the star-wayThe old moon crept . . .And, one by another,The grey fields slept.

Lords of the NurseryTheir still watch keep . . .They hear from the sheep-foldThe rustle of sheep.A young bird twittersAnd hides its head;A little wind suddenlyBreathes, and is dead.

Slowly and slowlyDawns the new day . . .What’s become of John boy?

No one can say.Some think that John boyIs 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.