What did you become, little one?
I have the plans here. Drawings.
An architecture of the face.
Hands, moving then still.
Feet so agile they can
step into the next world.
These beloved forms
bending over a crib,
do they know you?
How long is not specified.
Walk through the graveyard.
If you want, I will come.
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john mann poems 
The title distracts. I think this is a lovely poem, but I don’t want to exert energy trying to relate a title that sounds so quotidian. Neither do I want to invent metaphysical associations where there may be none. There just isn’t enough time or content to mess with the title unless it bears directly on the subject. What gold can be derived from linking “Thief” to death for instance, or “Beggarman” to mortality? That’s been done before and is practically a cliche. The first line is rich in pathos and vulnerability. Why blur that with some sing-song reference to a child rhyme? The title has a blare which is out of proportion to the poignancy of the mood.