BALLOONS

Where do they go, I want to know, The little balloons which fly, and fly, Over the trees and up so high Into the sky? Do they sail as far as Heaven’s gate, Where chubby cherubs watch and wait, Who stretch out their hands with an eager cry As the little balloons come floating by? Do the cherubs play with the pretty things, Flitting about on their baby wings, While the little balloons bob to and fro, Just as they did in the world below? They never come back the tale to tell, So no one knows what each befell. But if they can stay In that Land for aye, Where the sun ever shines and the sky is blue, I do not blame them for longing to fly Over the trees and up so high; And when mine goes I will not boo-hoo,— Will you?