Ah, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered <br />your sweet limbs with that little red tunic? <br />You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard, <br />tottering and tumbling as you run. <br />But who was it coloured that little frock, my child? <br />What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud? <br />Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold. <br />She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle, and you dance <br />with your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd. <br />But what is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud? <br />O beggar, what do you bed for, clinging to your mother's neck <br />with both your hands? <br />O greedy heart, shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the <br />sky to place it on your little rosy palm? <br />O beggar, what are you begging for? <br />The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet <br />bells. <br />The sun smiles and watches your toilet. <br />The sky watches over you when you sleep in your mother's arms, <br />and the morning comes tiptoe to your bed and kisses your eyes. <br />The wind carried away in glee the tinkling of your anklet <br />bells. <br />The fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying <br />through the twilight sky. <br />The world-mother keeps her seat by you in your mother's heart. <br />He who plays his music to the stars is standing at your window <br />with his flute. <br />And the fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying <br />through the twilight sky.<br /><br />Sir Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-unheeded-pageant-2/
