Sometime there ben a lyttel boy <br /> That wolde not renne and play, <br />And helpless like that little tyke <br /> Ben allwais in the way. <br />"Goe, make you merrie with the rest," <br /> His weary moder cried; <br />But with a frown he catcht her gown <br /> And hong untill her side. <br /> <br />That boy did love his moder well, <br /> Which spake him faire, I ween; <br />He loved to stand and hold her hand <br /> And ken her with his een; <br />His cosset bleated in the croft, <br /> His toys unheeded lay,-- <br />He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, <br /> Ben allwais in the way. <br /> <br />Godde loveth children and doth gird <br /> His throne with soche as these, <br />And He doth smile in plaisaunce while <br /> They cluster at His knees; <br />And sometime, when He looked on earth <br /> And watched the bairns at play, <br />He kenned with joy a lyttel boy <br /> Ben allwais in the way. <br /> <br />And then a moder felt her heart <br /> How that it ben to-torne,-- <br />She kissed eche day till she ben gray <br /> The shoon he used to worn; <br />No bairn let hold untill her gown, <br /> Nor played upon the floore,-- <br />Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy <br /> Ben in the way no more!<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lyttel-boy/
