The little feet that run to me,
The little hands that strive
To touch me at the heart, and find
The heart in me alive:
Oh God! if hands and feet should fail,
If Death his mist should fling
Between my heart and the touch of
The little living thing!
A Father's Fear.
Robert Crawford
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Poem topics: death, god, touch, heart, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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