There is a young child, aged but seven springs

Her father takes her in his arms and swings

Her high above his gray head.

And the young child, only in her seventh year

Reaches for the moon's bright sphere

Then she tries to catch the stars.

High in the crisp night air, hanging suspended

Supported by his two long arms extended

She strives to touch the night sky.

The child thinks no sight

So lovely as the stars at night.

Her father thinks his child's eyes

Far outshine the brilliant light

Of stars that dance across the skies.