The Whistling Boy

What has become of the whistling boy,

     Red-cheeked barefooted and free?

The youngster we knew when the morning dew

Still sprinkled the field where the daisies grew,

     And sparkled o’er meadow and lea.

What have we done with the whistling boy,

     Have we taken away his song?

Has our greed for gain his innocence slain,

Does he feel so soon the consuming strain

     Of the mad, ambitious throng?

O, let us bring back the whistling boy!

     To cheer us at break of day;

Let us keep him free of the cares that be

And listen again to the melody

     That seems to have passed away.

March 14, ‘06