O Child Of Mine Grows No-Older Poem by Mark Heathcote
O Child Of Mine Grows No-Older
Place your head upon my shoulder
O child of mine grows no-older.
Less life's platitudes make you stronger.
Stay with me a little longer!
Misfortune' rings her lowly bell
She's waiting there to here you, yell.
Solemnly she's genial but who should tell
She'd wish all that's virtuous smote in hell.
O child of mine grows no-older.
Then the stone Jesus Christ moreover!
Newborn, bold-over?
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5/19/2024 2:31:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
