His Room

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.