WHEN the bare feet of the baby beat
across the grass
The
little white feet nod like white flowers in the
wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across
the
water;
And the sight of their white play among the
grass
Is like a
little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of
one
flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of
wings.
I long for the baby to wander hither
to me
Like a
wind-shadow wandering over the water,
So that she can stand on my knee
With her little bare feet in my
hands,
Cool like
syringa buds,
Firm
and silken like pink young peony flowers.