 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
CHILDREN'S QUESTIONS.
A shrewd child's questions are, in their quaint way,Hardest to answer—they come to the “Why”
At once, and will not take, for a reply,
Vague explanations which but lead astray—
They break through all the cobweb-like array
Of words and technicalities, whereby
We darken e'en the windows of the sky,
And dim the very light of God's free day!
But they those lovely windows would fling wide,
And, like the flowers, turn still to the light,
Which through them streams, from morn till eventide!
Nature's the only book which they delight
To pore upon: with things, not words, which hide
And gloss them over, joying heart and sight!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |