Memory

I stood and watched him playing,    A little lad of three,

And back to me came straying    The years that used to be;

In him the boy was Maying    Who once belonged to me.

The selfsame brown his eyes were    As those that once I knew;

As glad and gay his cries were,    He owned his laughter, too.

His features, form and size were    My baby's, through and through.

His ears were those I'd sung to;    His chubby little

Were those that I had clung to;    His hair in golden

It seemed my heart was strung to    By love's unbroken bands.

With him I lived the old days    That seem so far away;

The beautiful and bold days    When he was here to play;

The sunny and the gold days    Of that remembered May.

I know not who he may be    Nor where his home may be,

But I shall every day be    In hope again to

The image of the baby    Who once belonged to me.

Taken from Just Folks by Edgar A

Published by The Reilly & Lee Co.,

Chicago,

Pages 48-49