TO ANOTHER WOMAN'S BABY

I list your prattle, baby boy,

And hear your pattering feet

With feelings more of pain than joy

And thoughts of bitter-sweet.

While touching your soft hands in play

Such passionate longings rise

For my wee boy who strayed away

So soon to Paradise.

You win me with your infant art;

But when our play is o'er,

The empty cradle in my heart

Seems lonelier than before.

Sweet baby boy, you do not guess

How oft mine eyes are dim,

Or that my lingering caress

Is sometimes meant for HIM.