Those Lovable Boys

I sing this song

To glorify those lovable small boys

With roguish imps refusing to be soothed

To stillness in the very souls of them;

With music lilting from their laughing hearts;

(The joyous hours a whistling boy recalls!)

With breeches torn from climbing over fences;

(For what lure has a gate!) with wayward hair

Smoothed down in front but left untamed behind;

With faces glowing islands in a sea

Of darker waves in front of sunburned ears

When heads were reverently bowed before each meal.

(Why wash too thoroughly when hearts are clean!)

Remembering the lads

Who grew along with me and made a game

Of each day's living, playing hard and square;

Remembering perpetual appetites

That scarce could wait for hands to be hygienic;

(That tempting bread and jam! Those boyish grins!)

Remembering all the exhuberance bottled up--

The dynamo within each childish form--

That found release in dancing feet, in hands

Swinging an axe, creating willow whistles;

In tongues that were incessant babbling brooks

With every leaf-boat thought kept shining-clean.

Remembering how perfect they could be

In church each Sabbath day ... and seeing now

Their manliness in daring think and speak

Against chaotic treadmill apathy--

Remembering all this, I dare to say

I hope I find a few such lads in Heaven.

The American Bard