Fairy Tales and Poems and Things to Read While Saying Goodnight

Once there was a little pink Rosebud, and she lived down in a little dark house under the ground. One day she was sitting there, all by herself, and it was very still. Suddenly, she heard a little tap, tap, tap, at the door.

``Who is that?'' she said.

``It's the Rain, and I want to come in;'' said a soft, sad, little voice. 

``No, you can't come in,'' the little Rosebud said shyly.

A wee while later she heard another little tap, tap, tap on the window pane.

``Who is there?'' she said.

The same soft little voice answered, ``It's the Rain, and I would like to come in!''

``No, you can't come in,'' said the little Rosebud.

Then it was very still for a long time. At last, there came a low rustling, whispering sound, all round the window:.... rustle, whisper, whisper.

``Who is there?'' said the little Rosebud.

`It's the Sunshine,'' said a little, soft, cheery voice, ``and I would like to come in!''

``N -- no,'' said the little pink rose, ``you can't come in.'' And she sat still again.

Pretty soon she heard the sweet little rustling noise at the key-hole.

``Who is there?'' she said.

``It's the Sunshine,'' said the cheery little voice, ``and I want to come in, I want to come in''

``No, no,'' said the little pink rose, ``you cannot come in.''

By and by, as she sat so still, she heard tap, tap, tap, and rustle, whisper, rustle, all up and down the window pane, and on the door, and at the key-hole.

``Who is there?'' she said.

``It's the Rain and the Sun, the Rain and the Sun,'' said two little voices, together, ``and we want to come in! We want to come in! We want to come in!''

``Dear, dear!'' said the little Rosebud, ``if there are two of you, I s'pose I shall have to let you in.''

So she opened the door a little wee crack, and in they came. And one took one of her little hands, and the other took her other little hand, and they flew, flew, flew with her, right up to the top of the ground. Then they said, --

``Poke your head through!''

So she poked her head through; and she there was the most glorious of sights she could imaging. She was in the midst of a beautiful garden.

It was springtime, and all the other flowers had their heads poked through; and she was the prettiest little pink rose in the whole garden!

Adapted from a story by Sarza Cone Bryant