The griefs of a little boy are forever.

His rages are a death-blow given.

In his throat and eyes the loneliness

Of a small boy is a weather-driven

Ache. Joy in a little boy

Is a handbell whirled and ringing.

His delight makes more delight.

Growing, greeting, gathering,

A little boy invents amazing words

For the world. The name of never

Is not one. And watch his eyes.

He knows a humming world-forever

Word but cannot say it yet.

The labors of a little boy are all

In carrying something somewhere else,

And back, and reaching to be tall.

His afternoons and evenings are

Thrust forward against sleep as far

As ingenious eagerness can go.

His mornings never end.

Under skies that never bend

He asks to see, and help, and know.

He dabbles noise and water. Tries

The world's worth by running on

Its grass hard. Trusts. And has not

Time to ask why yesterday is gone.