I don't Quite Cross My T's and Dot My eyes Any more

I don't Quite
Cross My T's
And Dot my I's
Anymore
And when
I see the
Beauty
Majesty
An Innocence
Of
A little Boy's
Trust
I pine
That my
Own little Boy
As a Grown Man
Knows his Mother
As a Comparatively
Hollow Shell
Oh to have
Passed on My Intellect
Before
It has been
Lost
For the Most Part
To Insanity!