POETRY

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 426, 14 July 1904, Page 2

POETRY

MY LITTLE BOY. You wouldn’t think to leek at him a-lyin’ tharsomeek, With hie chubby bands both folded underneath his sunburnt cheek; You wouldn’t think, to eee the peace his Bleepin’ features bake, Jnstwhata holy tenor he kin be when he’e awake! Z bet If yon could get a peep beneath them lubes there. You’d find a spark o’ mischief lurkin’ m his eyes somewhere; An’ those cursed lips that’s moulded like a cherub’s, soft an’ sweet. They're yearnin' j«t to give a shout wculd lift you cff yent feet. Look at hia ragged coat a-hangiu’ on that chair— Thar ain’t a thing belongs to him that don’t show signs of wear.

Jest see those rusty little shoes, with both the toes knocked out. They give a sort o’ idea of the way he gits abont. Somehow it don’t feel natural fur the house to be so still. It’s full of empty spaces that it takes his voice to fill; in’ I miss the shouts and laughter an* the patter of hie feet, An’the litter that 1 growl abont—things look a lot too neat. It's curious how a little scamp like that kin take a part In all your thoughts an’ fancies, till he fills a feller’s heart With the rattle an’ the prattle that you learn to love somehow, Till you’re lonely when you miss it—Sh I —Great Scott, he’s waking now!