I saw the little story Of the playhouse under the porch. And as I read it over Memory flamed up like a torch. And I thought of another playhouse Of a long ago day Where my boys and their little neighbors Often came to play Some days they played so happily With cousins and little friend And some days there were squabbles That Mother had to end Now, the playhouse is forgotten The boys to manhood grown Are scattered. Some are far away With children of their own. One, dressed in a soldier's uniform Sleeps the last sleep of all. While we still thought him only a boy He answered his country's call So, Mother, be very thoughtful For the mudpies by the door. I often wish my boys could be Playing under the porch once more. |