To the Child

My sweet little child, why art thou crying?
Oh! A scraped knee from a fall thou hast got!
There now, there now, cease those tears from flowing,
For life is long, and anguish is man’s lot.
Time is with thee; mine is slowly seeping,
Till what remains is a poor man forgot.

There now, there now, come and rest here my child,
And I shalt speak of a happy mem’ry.
Rest, lay thy burdens, my bosom is mild.
Worry not, for tomorrow thou shalt see,
These wounds that rend thee, sweet little child
A distant pain shall ever, ever be.

Fair child, I was over and over told
That love’s footpath is a bittersweet pain
Take it from a poet of wise and old:
“The greatest of pains is to love in vain”
Oh! If only then were this man more bold,
To love, to sweet love! I would ever fain.

Let it suffice now, fill thy heart with glee,
Rest now, sleep now and forever be free.

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    For people who love to think.

    Jian Carlo R. Narag, MD

    2005-2017

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