Sometimes
A CROSS 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.
— 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.
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