Poems (Geisse)/The Lost Kite
For works with similar titles, see The Lost Kite.
THE LOST KITE.
Poor little man, is your heart quite broken, Broken because your kite is gone? Sadly you stand in the sunny meadow With arms uplifted and eyes forlorn.
And the beautiful landscape seems to darken As you look through the mist of your falling tears,And in your impotent wrath and sorrow You feel the weight of your seven years.
But I little man, as I strive to comfort Your childish grief, that is oh! so real, Rejoice in my heart that the years are many Ere you'll know the griefs that your elders feel.
For we big folks, we have our troubles, We fly our kites, and we lose them, too, And when they are gone, they are gone forever, But a brand new kite will comfort you.
And an hour hence I shall see you smiling, Your trouble forgotten in some new play; But we, little man, when we lose a treasure, We mourn its loss for many a day.