who is that child i see wandering wanderingdown by the side of the quivering stream?why does he seem not to hear though i call to him?where does he come from ,and what is his name?why do i see him at sunrise and sunsettaking, in the old-fashioned clothes, the same track?why, when he walks, does he cast not a shadowthough the sun rises and falls at his back?why does the dust lie so thick on the hedgerowby the great field where a horse pulls a plough?why do i see only meadows where housesstand by the riverside now?why does he move like a wraith by the watersoft as the thistledown on the breeze blown?when i draw near him so that i may hear him,why does he say that his name is my own?-by charles causeley
up up and jacelyn flew away superballoon@ 5:31 AM
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