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
Edgar Albert Guest
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