I TELL them where the wind comes from,
Where the music goes when the fiddle is in the box.
Kids—I saw one with a proud chin, a sleepyhead,
And the moonline creeping white on her pillow.
I have seen their heads in the starlight
And their proud chins marching in a mist of stars.
They are the only people I never lie to.
I give them honest answers,
Answers shrewd as the circles of white on brown chestnuts.