His Room

His room is as it used to be

Before he went away,

The walls still keep the pennants he

Brought home but yesterday.

The picture of his baseball team

Still holds its favored spot,

And oh, it seems a dreadful dream

This age of shell and shot!

His golf clubs in the corner stand;

His tennis racket, too,

That once the pressure of his hand

In times of laughter knew

Is in the place it long has kept

For us to look upon.

The room is as it was, except

The boy, himself, has gone.

The pictures of his girls are here,

Still smiling as of yore,

And everything that he held dear

Is treasured as before.

Into his room his mother goes

As usual, day by day,

And cares for it, although she knows

Our boy is far away.

We keep it as he left it, when

He bade us all good-bye,

Though I confess that, now and then,

We view it with a sigh.

For never night shall thrill with joy

Nor day be free from gloom

Until once more our soldier boy

Shall occupy his room.