Foreign Children
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanese,
Oh! don't you wish that you were me?

You have seen the scarlet trees
And the lions overseas;
You have eaten ostrich eggs,
And turned the turtles off their legs.

Such a life is very find,
But it's not so nice as mine:
You must often, as you trod,
Have wearied not to be abroad.

You have curious things to eat,
I am fed on proper meat;
You must dwell beyond the foam,
But I am safe and live at home.

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanese,
Oh! don't you wish that you were me?