Memory

I stood and watched him playing, A little lad of three, And back to me came straying The years that used to be; In him the boy was Maying Who once belonged to me. The selfsame brown his eyes were As those that once I knew; As glad and gay his cries were, He owned his laughter, too. His features, form and size were My baby's, through and through. His ears were those I'd sung to; His chubby little hands Were those that I had clung to; His hair in golden strands It seemed my heart was strung to By love's unbroken bands. With him I lived the old days That seem so far away; The beautiful and bold days When he was here to play; The sunny and the gold days Of that remembered May. I know not who he may be Nor where his home may be, But I shall every day be In hope again to see The image of the baby Who once belonged to me.