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When you were just a little chap,

     About as tall as “so”,

Sometimes your skies grew very dark,

     And you were full of woe.

And you were prone to run away,

     And leave no trace or truck;

But O, when night came on how glad

     You were to wander back.

You got out where the woods were dense,

     And everything was strange;

You had a nameless dread of what

     Lay far beyond the range.

And so you turned your tearful face

     To the old chimney stack;

And how much more secure you felt

     When you were going back.

Again, when you were in your teens,

     Headstrong, as boys will be,

When you and your fond parents failed

     On something to agree,

You packed up in a huff and left,

     For where you had no ken,

Declaring you would ne’er return

     Beneath their roof again.

But by and by you softened down,

     And thought of home and friends,

And rushing back at close of day

     You sought to make amends.

Ah! and friends are friends – home is home,

     In palace cot or shack;

And tho’ sometimes we run away,

     How good to wander back!

Oct. 28, ‘07