by Thomas Samuel Jones, Jr. (1882 - 1932)

Language: English 
Across the fields of yesterday	 
    He sometimes comes to me,	 
A little lad just back from play--	 
    The lad I used to be.	 
  
And yet he smiles so wistfully	         
    Once he has crept within,	 
I wonder if he hopes to see	 
    The man I might have been.

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Researcher for this page: Nich Roehler

This text was added to the website: 2012-05-20
Line count: 8
Word count: 47