Half-Past-Six and I were talking
In a very grown-up way;
We had got so tired with running
That we did not want to play.
“How do babies come, I wonder,”
He said, looking at the sky,
“Does God mix the things together
An’ just make it—like a pie?”
I was really not quite certain,
But it sounded very nice;
It was all that we could think of,
Besides a book said ‘sugar and spice.’
Half-Past-Six said—he’s so clever—
Cleverer than me, I mean ...
“I suppose God makes the black ones
When the saucepan isn’t clean.”