“The boy for whom Barrie wrote Peter Pan—the
original of Peter Pan—has died in battle.”
—New York Times

And Peter Pan is dead? not so!
When mothers turn the lights down low
And tuck their little sons in bed,
They know that Peter is not dead…

That little rounded blanket hill,
Those prayer-time eyes, so deep and still—
However wise and great a man
He grows, he still is Peter Pan.

And mothers’ ways are often queer:
They pause in doorways, just to hear
A tiny breathing; think a prayer;
And then go tiptoe down the stair.