Tommy Smith

A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

Dimple-cheeked and rosy-lipped,
With his cap-rim backward tipped,
Still in fancy I can see
Little Tommy smile on me -
Little Tommy Smith.

Little unsung Tommy Smith -
Scarce a name to rhyme it with;
Yet most tenderly to me
Something sings unceasingly -
Little Tommy Smith.

On the verge of some far land
Still forever does he stand,
With his cap-rim rakishly
Tilted; so he smiles on me -
Little Tommy Smith.

Elder-blooms contrast the grace
Of the rover's radiant face -
Whistling back, in mimicry,
"Old - Bob - White!" all liquidly -
Little Tommy Smith.

O my jaunty statuette
Of first love, I see you yet.
Though you smile so mistily,
It is but through tears I see,
Little Tommy Smith.

But, with crown tipped back behind,
And the glad hand of the wind
Smoothing back your hair, I see
Heaven's best angel smile on me, -
Little Tommy Smith.

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