The Little Children

By Francis Ledwidge

Hunger points a bony finger

To the workhouse on the hill,

But the little children linger

While there's flowers to gather still

For my sunny window sill.

In my hands I take their faces,

Smiling to my smiles they run.

Would that I could take their places

Where the murky bye-ways shun

The benedictions of the sun

How they laugh and sing returning

Lightly on their secret way.

While I listen in my yearning

Their laughter fills the windy day

With gladness, youth and May.

This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge, Published by Herbert Jenkins, London 1918 page 24-25checked and verified JSProbable date of writing 1916