What do you think of, little boy,
With golden hair and angel face?
Your little ears hear not a word,
Your bright blue eyes stare into space.
And yet you love to hear the sound
Of water, that you splash and churn.
You bend and listen to the noise
Of pages rustling as they turn.
Where do you go, my handsome lad?
You seem ten thousand miles away.
Turn once to me, lift up your head
And look into my eyes, I pray.
Each week we try; we hug, we beg,
You turn your gentle face away,
And once again withdraw from us
And chuckle as you go to play.
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