MY LITTLE MAN.
My little man is merry and wise,
Gay as a cricket and blithe as a bird;
Often he laughs and seldom he cries,
Chatters and coos at my lightest word:
Peeping and creeping and opening the door,
Clattering, pattering over the floor,
In and out, round about, fast as he can,—
So goes the daytime with my little man.
Gay as a cricket and blithe as a bird;
Often he laughs and seldom he cries,
Chatters and coos at my lightest word:
Peeping and creeping and opening the door,
Clattering, pattering over the floor,
In and out, round about, fast as he can,—
So goes the daytime with my little man.
My little man is brimful of fun,
Always in mischief and sometimes in grief;
Thimble and scissors he hides one by one,
Till nothing is left but to catch the thief:
Sunny hair, golden fair, over his brow;
Eyes so deep, lost in sleep, look at him now;
Baby feet, dimpled sweet, tired as they ran,
So goes the night-time with my little man.
Always in mischief and sometimes in grief;
Thimble and scissors he hides one by one,
Till nothing is left but to catch the thief:
Sunny hair, golden fair, over his brow;
Eyes so deep, lost in sleep, look at him now;
Baby feet, dimpled sweet, tired as they ran,
So goes the night-time with my little man.
My little man with cherry-ripe face,
Pouting red lips and dimpled chin,
Pouting red lips and dimpled chin,
