My Little One

By Tennessee Williams

My little one whose tongue is dumb,

whose fingers cannot hold to things,

who is so mercilessly young,

he leaps upon the instant things,

I hold him not. Indeed, who could?

He runs into the burning wood.

Follow, follow if you can!

He will come out grown to a man

and not remember whom he kissed,

who caught him by the slender wrist

and bound him by a tender yoke

which, understanding not, he broke.