. . . sitting around as Little Weng gets younger and shorter,

until he stops walking, becomes very small,

disappears back into his mother.

He would get younger too, until an eager, sprightly Mr. Fun,

sat listening to a pretty girl (Mrs. Fun) wash clothes

in a bucket for the first and last time.

Little Weng would be lost first, though,

dead without having to die.

What a good thing, he told Mrs. Fun in bed,

that the street of life is one-way.