Answer: C. running fast results in being breathless.
The reason is given in the very line before: “We run so fast / I / can’t / even / catch / my / breath.” Hard running uses up oxygen quickly, so the body gasps for air — that is breathlessness.
Book page 117 & 118 Updated on2026-09-05
Answer: C. running fast results in being breathless.
The reason is given in the very line before: “We run so fast / I / can’t / even / catch / my / breath.” Hard running uses up oxygen quickly, so the body gasps for air — that is breathlessness.
No, the speaker is not alone. She is playing with a group of friends.
The proof is in the pronouns. The poem says “we play ball”, “in our neighbour’s field”, “We run so fast” and “cold grass aches our feet”. Only once does the poet switch to ‘I’ — “I can’t even catch my breath” — and that is because breathlessness is felt by one body at a time, even when the running is shared.
The pattern — one word to a line, dropping down the page like steps — makes the reader breathe the way the child is breathing.
Read it aloud: I … can’t … even … catch … my … breath. You are forced to stop after every single word. Those pauses are the child’s gasps. The poet could have written the line normally, but then it would only have told us she was out of breath; printed like this, it makes us feel it.
The grass is cold because the sun has set and night has come.
All through the day the sunshine warms the ground; once the sun goes down, the earth and the grass quickly lose that heat, and the cool evening air and the dew that begins to settle make the grass colder still. The children, who have been running barefoot, feel this at once.
The children’s feet are aching because they have been running hard, barefoot, on grass that has now turned cold.
The poem gives both halves of the reason. The running comes from “We run so fast / I can’t even catch my breath”, and the cold comes from “cold grass aches our feet”. Tired feet plus cold ground equals a real ache.
Answer: A. time for play has ended.
Night ‘wins’ because darkness, not any player, is what finally stops the game — “trees creep close— / game’s over. / Night wins!” In a match, the winner is the one still standing at the end. Here neither team wins; the darkness clears the field, so the poet cheerfully hands the victory to Night.