The After-Dinner Smoke

THROUGH the smoke clouds that I blow I can see the Long Ago And the merry lanes of boyhood That I gayly used to tread; See the crows upon the wing, Hear the thrushes sweetly sing, And once more I 'm stretched out dreaming With the green grass for a bed. As I slowly puff away, I 'm a boy once more at play, I am angling for the catfish Or I 'm swimming with my chums; Now I chaw green apples, too, Underneath God's stretch of blue, With not a thought of trouble Or the pain that after comes. As the blue smoke slowly curls, Once again I see the girls In their little gingham dresses And their faces berry-brown; Then one little maid I see Who was all in all to me In the days before I journeyed From the old home to the town. Now she comes into the room Where I 'm dreaming in the gloom, And she says the air is frightful, And she starts to gasp and choke; But, of course, she doesn't know How the days of Long Ago Come back to me each evening In my after-dinner smoke.