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