A Little Child by R. E. G. Armattoe

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A Little Child

R. E. G. Armattoe

Little child, what ails there 

In a world 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 pearl button! 

What odds! I reason 

Thy Daddy does not mind 

For he was once a child 

And played in forests wild. 

Men will be boys, boys men, 

Girls mothers, mothers girls, 

And life itself thus renews.

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