The little stranger has arrived, bald of head and short of sight. We pray he’ll never be deprived of everything that’s right. He wiggles, he burps, he blows a bubble; he looks for our faces with his big eyes, for him we’ll take all kinds of trouble, such as changing him when he cries. The little stranger has come home, for a while, for now, if not to stay, like a spirit, like a gnome. We pray he’ll always be okay.