A Little Boy

You tread so lightly upon my hands;
and, holding you, I hold a world within
which lies an infinity of riches. In
my dreams, however, we lie upon the sands
of some strange land where we at last commence
our journeys; so it is; and if I lean
on you as trees against the sky I mean
only to speak a secret word. And thence,
you hold me too, as warmly as the sun,
that in the night will only touch the moon.
Now you are far away, my thoughts will run
to you, all childlike, sidling up to kiss
your cheek at play. And in the afternoon
he’ll want a hug, saying a quiet Please.

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