by Walter de la Mare
Dark frost was in the air without,
The dusk was still with cold and gloom,
When less than even a shadow came
And stood within the room.
But of the three around the fire,
None turned a questioning head to look,
Still read a clear voice, on and on,
Still stooped they o’er their book.
The children watched their mother’s eyes
Moving on softly line to line;
It seemed to listen too—that shade,
Yet made no outward sign.
You can read the rest of the poem here.
At Wild Rose Reader, I have MOUSE, an original acrostic poem.
Mary Ann's got the Poetry Friday Round Up at Great Kid Books today.