And the dimples will come in a little while.
There’s one should be in his cheek, right there,
And one belongs in his chin. ’Tis rare
That I look in vain for the merry trace
Of the winsome dimples in baby’s face!
But, by and by, he will open his eyes,
All soft and blue as the summer skies:
And when he laughs at my merry call,
I shall find the dimples, the smiles, and all.
