(I know, I did this poem last summer. But just look at this picture. I had to put it up.)
Bed in Summer
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow Candlelight.
In summer quite the other way,
I have to go to sleep by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree.
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not see hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
--Robert Louis Stevenson