Poetry Archives

By parents I would not be pinned,
        Nor in my home abide,
For I was wanton as the wind
        And tameless as the tide;
So scornful of domestic hearth,
        And bordered garden path,
I sought the wilder ways of earth,
        The roads of wrath.

It scares me now to think of how
        Foolhardily I fared;
Though mighty scarred of pelt and pow
        A dozen deaths I’ve dared;
Yet there are trails I would explore,
        And wilds that for me wait . . .
Alas! I’ll wander nevermore,—
        The hour’s too late.

The folks are at my picture show,
        I smoke my pipe and sigh.
Soft-slippered by the ember’s glow
        A baby-sitter I.
Behold! In dressing-gown of mauve,
        To comfort reconciled,
A rover rocks the cradle of
        His new grand-child.