I love to note a baby’s way
The grace of childhood is so sweet.
I gave a tiny friend, one day,
A piece of gingerbread to eat,
And I, much pleasure gained the while
To see the happy little smile.
Then straightway I forgot the act
As usually I do, in fact.
A few days more, the same wee tot
Tapped softly at my kitchen door.
Some ripe tomatoes he had brought
As he had often done before.
I chatted as I took his pan
While through my brain the question ran,
If there was anything I had
With which to please the little lad.
I asked if he liked honey, sweet,
Knowing some children prize the treat.
"Not wery well," he shyly said,
Then boldly raised his little head,
While bravely forth his wee voice rings,
"But I like gingerbread and things."
Was ever baby tact more sweet?
Swiftly I ran with flying feet,
Almost afraid to lift the lid
For fear no gingerbread it hid.
That baby faith, I must not shake—
Oh joy, there’s one small piece of cake!
