There is no treasure
in all the world
worth one baby
who, washed and curled,
her bath-time over,
her day before her,
kicks and crows
while her parents adore her.

Her Father reflects
as he watches her face
what a wonderful thing
is the human race.
Her Mother avers
if there’s aught so sweet
as her daughters hands
’tis her daughters feet

But the baby who talks
to her feet and hands
smiles to herself
for she understands
there’s more to be learnt
than you’d suppose
from twice five fingers
and twice five toes.
She knows it, she knows it,
and chuckles again,
but just what it is
she will never explain.