When I go on my morning walk,
Because I’m mild,
If I be in the mood to talk
I choose a child.
I’d rather prattle with a lass
Of tender age
Than converse in the high-brow class
With college sage.
I love the touch of silken hand
That softly clings;
In old of age I understand
Life’s little things.
I love the lisp of tiny tongue
And trusting eyes;
These are the joys that keep me young
As daylight dies.
For as to second childhood I
Draw gently near,
With happy heart I see the why
Children are dear.
So wise Professor, go your way,-
I am beguiled
To wistful loving by the gay
Laugh of a child.
