(30 March 1886 - 19 August 1960 / Cambridge, England)

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The New-born Baby's Song

When I was twenty inches long,
I could not hear the thrush's song;
The radiance of the morning skies
Was most displeasing to my eyes.

For loving looks, caressing words,
I cared no more than sun or birds;
But I could bite my mother's breast,
And that made up for all the rest.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 10, 2011


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