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.