Bedtime

Bedtime
The evening is coming, the sun sinks to rest,
The crows are all flying straight home to their nest;
"Caw," says the crow as he flies overhead,
"It's time little people were going to bed."

The flowers are all closing, the daisy's asleep,
The primrose is buried in slumber so deep;
Closed for the night are the roses so red,
"It's time little people were going to bed."

The butterfly drowsy has folded its wings,
The bees are returning, no more the bird sings;
Their labour is over, their nestlings are fed,
"It's time little people were going to bed."