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 hands

Were those that I had clung to;

    His hair in golden strands

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 see

The image of the baby

    Who once belonged to me.

Taken from Just Folks by Edgar A GuestPublished by The Reilly & Lee Co., Chicago, 1917Pages 48-49