The time we like the best of all
Is when the shadows creepy crawl,
   One after another;
When the golden sun sinks down in the west,
And the tired birdie flies home to its nest,
   And we're left alone with mother.

Then the story fairies silently creep,
And over her big armchair they peep,
   One after the other;
And she tells us the wonderful things they say
Of fairy countries so far away,
   When we're left alone with mother.