Two Children

Robert William Service

Give me your hand, oh little one!
     Like children be we two;
Yet I am old, my day is done
     That barely breaks for you.
A baby-basket hard you hold,
     With in it cherries four:
You cherish them as men do gold,
               And count them o’er.

And then you stumble in your walk;
     The cherries scattered lie.
You pick them up with foolish talk
     And foolish glad am I,
When you wipe one quite clean of dust
     And give it unto me;
So in the baby-basket just
               Are three.

All this is simple, I confess,
     A moment piled with peace;
Yet loving men have died for less,
     And will till time shall cease. . . .
A silken hand in crinkled one—
     O Little Innocence!
O blessed moment in the son
               E’er I go hence!

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