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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507173" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Picture Book</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I was not quite five years old<br>I first saw the blue picture book,<br>And Fraulein Spitzenburger told<br>Stories that sent me hot and cold;<br>I loathed it, yet I had to look:<br>It was a German book.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I smiled at first, for she'd begun<br>With a back-garden broad and green,<br>And rabbits nibbling there: page one<br>Turned; and the gardener fired his gun<br>From the low hedge: he lay unseen<br>Behind: oh, it was mean!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They're hurt, they can't escape, and so<br>He stuffs them head-down in a sack,<br>Not quite dead, wriggling in a row,<br>And Fraulein laughed, 'Ho, ho! Ho, ho!'<br>And gave my middle a hard smack,<br>I wish that I'd hit back.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then when I cried she laughed again;<br>On the next page was a dead boy<br>Murdered by robbers in a lane;<br>His clothes were red with a big stain<br>Of blood, he held a broken toy,<br>The poor, poor little boy!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had to look: there was a town<br>Burning where every one got caught,<br>Then a fish pulled a nigger down<br>Into the lake and made him drown,<br>And a man killed his friend; they fought<br>For money, Fraulein thought.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old Fraulein laughed, a horrid noise.<br>'Ho, ho!' Then she explained it all<br>How robbers kill the little boys<br>And torture them and break their toys.<br>Robbers are always big and tall:<br>I cried: I was so small.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How a man often kills his wife,<br>How every one dies in the end<br>By fire, or water or a knife.<br>If you're not careful in this life,<br>Even if you can trust your friend,<br>You won't have long to spend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hated it--old Fraulein picked<br>Her teeth, slowly explaining it.<br>I had to listen, Fraulein licked<br>Her fingers several times and flicked<br>The pages over; in a fit<br>Of rage I spat at it...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And lying in my bed that night<br>Hungry, tired out with sobs, I found<br>A stretch of barren years in sight,<br>Where right is wrong, but strength is right,<br>Where weak things must creep underground,<br>And I could not sleep sound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Graves">Robert Graves</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507173" data-title="The Picture Book de Robert Graves" data-description="When I was not quite five years old
I first saw the blue picture book,
And Fraulein Spitzenburger told
Stories that sent me hot and cold;
I loathed it, yet I had to look:
It was a German book.

I smiled at first, for she'd begun
With a back-garden..."></div>
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