Author Joseph Skipsey Get up!" the caller calls, "Get up!" And in the dead of night, To win the bairns their bite and sup, I rise a weary wight. My flannel dudden donn'd, thrice o'er My birds are kiss'd, and then I with a whistle shut the door, I may not ope again. Tags kiss night rose Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments