The Little Children
Hunger points a bony finger
To the workhouse on the hill,
But the little children linger
While there's flowers to gather still
For my sunny window sill.
In my hands I take their faces,
Smiling to my smiles they run.
Would that I could take their places
Where the murky bye-ways shun
The benedictions of the sun
How they laugh and sing returning
Lightly on their secret way.
While I listen in my yearning
Their laughter fills the windy day
With gladness, youth and May.
This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge, Published by Herbert Jenkins, London 1918 page 24-25checked and verified JSProbable date of writing 1916
