FRED by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

He is just a little fellow,
And his hair is sort of gold,
He isn’t very big or strong,
I think ‘bout three years old,
He doesn’t have much to say,
But oh, his eyes are blue,
And somehow you got to love him,
When you find him watching you.

His smile is just as friendly,
And he has a cunning way,
Of cuddling right inside your heart,
Without the least delay,
And he has some big ideas,
Does this sturdy little lad,
Of building houses big and grand,
For his Mother and his Dad.

Sometimes we stop to watch him,
As he saws and hammers too.
And smile to see the mighty job,
He’s started out to do.
He scarcely takes the time for play,
But patient as can be,
He saws and plains and hammer,
The things he seems to see.

Oh, lovely babe, I’m wondering,
As swift the years go by,
How far you’ll go, how high you’ll build,
Your dreams into the sky?
Oh, let them scar, some distant sky?
Perchance you’ll proudly stand,
And view with pride, some templed shrine,
Wrought by thy brain and hand.

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934
May 4, 1932
Written for her great-nephew Fred Edmonds.

Copyright Roy Richard

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