Early in the morn, Waits he in the corner For the lass he so adores; A brief sighting of her-- Enough it'd be; One happy, skipping clam, Already he would be. Ten minutes more, Coaxes the boy; Another ten, mayhap. Yet, out flew the hour And the princess, His heart so craves-- Wherever, then, can she be? Thus, awaits the boy, Each plodding dawn-- Every single day; Off to the little cul-de-sac, Sits he and pines, stubbornly-- Wishing for a tiny glimpse Of the pretty maiden, His soul sings for, Oh so mournfully. "The Little Boy" Early in the morn, Waits he in the corner For the lass he so adores; A brief sighting of her-- Enough it'd be; One happy, skipping clam,
