Our Edward? What a whopper!
Our Edward is a pretty babe
In white gowns, starched and proper.
What? Ten years old? And can it be?
Am I awake or dreaming?
Is this a world of real things,
Or just a world of seeming?
I'd say 'twere but last week, or so,
We heard your lusty squallings,
And saw your first attempts to walk,
With tumblings hard, and sprawlings;
And picked you up, and coddled you,
And kissed away your sighing;
And tossed and jolted you and said;
"There, baby, stop your crying."
They say that time is slow, and halts;___
'Tis wrong; it never lingers.
The years are very smooth, like eels,
And slip right through one's fingers.
So I must own you're ten years old,
By evidence conclusive,___
Though past belief did I not know
The years are so elusive.
Quillings In Verse
John Edward Everett
(Smith Center: ___. 1912)