Today you talk of things of which I know
Only your telling; how you measure sand
Or clap to music till your fingers glow,
Or beat a drum with an unsteady hand.
Your speech is full of toys I have not seen,
A colored donkey, papers that you hook
Together to make pictures, books between
Whose painted covers I shall never look.
And I am glad for you that in this bright
New world you hold, without me you have found
Wide eyes to turn upon the world of sight,
Keen ears to lean unto the world of sound.
And only in my hidden heart I say
That I begin to lose you from this day.
JESSIE CORRIGAN PEALS.
Only your telling; how you measure sand
Or clap to music till your fingers glow,
Or beat a drum with an unsteady hand.
Your speech is full of toys I have not seen,
A colored donkey, papers that you hook
Together to make pictures, books between
Whose painted covers I shall never look.
And I am glad for you that in this bright
New world you hold, without me you have found
Wide eyes to turn upon the world of sight,
Keen ears to lean unto the world of sound.
And only in my hidden heart I say
That I begin to lose you from this day.
JESSIE CORRIGAN PEALS.
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