Poem of the day
The Little Boy Lost
by William Blake
Father, father, where are you going
O do not walk so fast.
Speak father, speak to your little boy
Or else I shall be lost,
The night was dark no father was there
The child was wet with dew.
The mire was deep, & the child did weep
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The poor wish to be rich, the rich wish to be happy, the single wish to be married, and the married wish to be dead.
Ann Landers