“How
far is it to sleeptown?”
I asked of “Baby Joe”,
As
sleepily he looked at me
Beneath the lamp’ dim glow.
Then,
with a dreamy far off look
He shook his curls of tow,
And
answered in a doubtful voice:
“Do’ know, papa, do’ know.”
“Where
is the land of sleeptown?”
I asked, inclining low,
The
while I held his limp, white hand,
So like the apple flow.
Then,
with one finger raised aloft,
(A half an inch or so)
He
lisped between his deepening breaths:
“Dus over, o – ver – o’.”
Feb.
7, ‘93
Pub.
in Camb. Press,
June
2, ‘94
No comments:
Post a Comment