* * The poetry of Ruth T. Whittlesey * *

A Tiny Lamb

The Shepherd has sent our fold

The sweetest baby to behold:

His big, brown eyes, when they awaken,

Just seem to beg that he be taken;

White little hands whose tiny tips

Are ever at his cherry lips;

The tiny feet will walk away

To handsome manhood some fine day.

Ah, Shepherd, guide them through this life

Into the world that knows no strife.

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