The Little Girl
A little girl, in her father’s lap,
She had a tight curl with a loose cap.
And as a monkey she curls her hands round him,
She was glancing at me from her little trim.
And she moves her hair away from her face.
Then she hid back into his embrace.
And the tighter she curls round him,
The tighter he holds her to his breast.
He reassures her with a pat on her chest.
And with scared eyes she glances away from me,
Turns her face only to see,
A reassuring smile and the warm eye,
And she starts to smile again.
In spite of being walked in rain.
And this forty year old is your baby.
I am cradled in your warm arms very near.
And what is there to fear?
The rain, winter or a frightful night,
Your grip encircles me, well tight.
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