THE LITTLE CHILD
Little Child, what ails thee
In a word so tiny?
Why are thy sweet lips cross
Thy pearly eyes so dim,
And why do tears now film
Thy lashes long?
Ah thou hast soiled thy smock
Thy nice and pretty frock,
And undone thy pearly button!
What odds! I reason
Thy Daddy does not mind
For He was once a Child
And played in the wild forests wild,
Men will be boys, boys men,
Girls mothers, mothers girls,
And life itself thus renews.
THE END
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