by Edgar Albert Guest
His room is as it used to be
Before he went away,
The walls still keep the pennants he
Brought home but yesterday.
The picture of his baseball team
Still holds its favored spot,
And oh, it seems a dreadful dream
This age of shell and shot!
His golf clubs in the corner stand;
His tennis racket, too,
That once the pressure of his hand
In times of laughter knew
Is in the place it long has kept
For us to look upon.
The room is as it was, except
The boy, himself, has gone.
The pictures of his girls are here,
Still smiling as of yore,
And everything that he held dear
Is treasured as before.
Into his room his mother goes
As usual, day by day,
And cares for it, although she knows
Our boy is far away.
We keep it as he left it, when
He bade us all good-bye,
Though I confess that, now and then,
We view it with a sigh.
For never night shall thrill with joy
Nor day be free from gloom
Until once more our soldier boy
Shall occupy his room.
Last updated January 14, 2019