Rosy red cheeks shrill as roses
Their laughter ripples smooth as honey
And crummy fingers sticking to their noses
The youth stampedes over quiescent duties

And with their tiny, spiky teeth
And eyes which devours everything
They don't hang their pride like wreaths
For what can be said, they're always smiling

And a splash in a shimmering puddle
Red boots soaked thoroughly for good
With frosting instead caking their lovely riddles
They may the wiser of the rue