Yvonne Beverly Blake
I drag my slippered feet upstairs,
I brush my teeth, and say my prayers.
My eyes are heavy; the lights are dim.
My puffy quilt is under my chin.
My daddy sits upon my bed,
Gives me Teddy, and rubs my head.
“There's something special about today.
Every four years is Leap Year Day.
"The earth makes a circle around the sun.
It takes a year before it’s done.
"Three hundred and sixty-five days,
Plus six more hours— it's a long ways.
"We could not have one fourth of a day.
There's not enough time to sleep and play
"So every four years, it works out fine
To have a February twenty-nine.”
Dad kisses my head and turns out the light,
And as he leaves, he whispers, “Good night.”
“A special day?” – I am wide awake.
“I can’t sleep now, for goodness sake!”
If I had known, when day was new,
A hundred things I’d want to do.
I would have worn my lucky hat,
And hit a super home-run –SMACK!
I could have sailed a kite so high,
With cotton-puff clouds dotting the sky
The day is gone. It is slipping fast.
This special day is almost past.
I could have read my favorite book
While curled up in a cozy nook,
And waved to train cars traveling far.
Or wished upon the brightest star.
Another four years? I’ll be so old.
I wish this day could be retold.