Young America Poem by Carolyn Wells
Young America
Wee Willie sat a-thinking,
And he shook his curly head.
Around him on the nursery floor
His treasures lay outspread.
Firecrackers and torpedoes,
Trumpet and flag and drum,
Rockets and pinwheels and paper caps,
For Fourth of July had come.
'But it makes me sort o' sorry,'
Wee Willie said with a sigh,
'To think of those poor little English boys
Without any Fourth of July.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 11:13:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
