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Poem	When I go on my morning walk, Because I'm mild, If I be in the mood to talk I choose a child. I'd rather prattle with a lass Of tender age Than converse in the high-brow class With college sage. I love the touch of silken hand That softly clings; In old of age I understand Life's little things. I love the lisp of tiny tongue And trusting eyes; These are the joys that keep me young As daylight dies. For as to second childhood I Draw gently near, With happy heart I see the why Children are dear. So wise Professor, go your way,-- I am beguiled To wistful loving by the gay Laugh of a child.
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