Through the callow world Children run to and fro; They grow, adult churls And bring our sphere so low. A boy is a girl A boxhead a squirrel And to touch it is so Poisonous a moral.
Through the callow world Children run to and fro; They grow, adult churls And bring our sphere so low. A boy is a girl A boxhead a squirrel And to touch it is so Poisonous a moral.