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Paul Laurence Dunbar - The Poet And The Baby
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How`s a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,--
  How`s he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,--
    When a-toddling on the floor
    Is the muse he must adore,
  And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well?

  Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows,
  One must always be as quiet as a mouse;
    But to write one seems to me
    Quite superfluous to be,
  When you `ve got a little sonnet in the house.

  Just a dainty little poem, true and fine,
  That is full of love and life in every line,
    Earnest, delicate, and sweet,
    Altogether so complete
  That I wonder what`s the use of writing mine.
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