THE UNHEEDED PAGEANT


Ah, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered
your sweet limbs with that little red tunic?

You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard,
tottering and tumbling as you run.

But who was it coloured that little frock, my child?

What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?

Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold.

She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle, and you dance with
your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd.

But what is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?

O beggar, what do you beg for, clinging to your mother's neck
with both your hands?

O greedy heart, shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the sky
to place it on your little rosy palm?

O beggar, what are you begging for?