The headlights raced; the moon, death-faced, <br />Stared down on that golden river. <br />I saw through the smoke the scarlet cloak <br />Of a boy who could not shiver. <br /> <br />His father's hand forced him to stand, <br />The traffic thundered slaughter; <br />One foot he thrust in the whirling dust <br />As it were running water. <br /> <br />As in a dream I saw the stream <br />Scatter in drops that glistened; <br />They flamed, they flashed, his brow they splashed, <br />And danger's son was christened. <br /> <br />The portent passed; his fate was cast, <br />Sea-farer, desert-ranger. <br />Tearless I smiled on that fearless child <br />Dipping his foot in Danger.<br /><br />Elinor Morton Wylie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-child-on-the-curbstone/
