Sometimes

Across the fields of yesterday
   He sometimes comes to me,
A little lad just back from play --
   The lad I used to be.

And yet he smiles so wistfully
   Once he has crept within,
I wonder if he hopes to see
   The man I might have been.

by Thomas S. Jones Jr.

Other poems of THOMAS S. JONES JR. (8)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.