And he would look like our John,
And he would be all crumpled too,
And have a pinkish color on.
I'd watch his breath go in and out.
His little clothes would all be white.
I'd slip my finger in his hand
To feel how he could hold it tight.
And she would smile and say, "Take care,"
The mother, Mary, would, "Take care";
And I would kiss his little hand