  Oh, the golden age of the barefoot time, While life was a fairy tale sung in rhyme, When phantoms grim of a future day Were hid in the mists of the far away; When we carved for ourselves from our June daydreams (Only yesterday now it seems), Statues of greatness, Jim and I, In the mystical realm of the By-and-By! Off for a swim on an afternoon,— The moments—why would they fly so soon! At the gate stood mother, who never was strong: “I shall worry, boys, if you stay too long.” Gone are the days of the long ago,— O lagging Time, now you move so slow! The rosy skies of our barefoot days Lie hidden from view by a misty haze. Jim he got tired and slipped away,— Left me alone to swim and play; The statues of greatness—in vain we planned,— Never appeared from the sculptor’s hand! And there came a day, I its reckoning keep, When mother, worn out, just dropped asleep,— Her voice melting into an angel’s song: “I shall wait at the Gate, so don’t stay too long.” |
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