At the Bars of Memory and Other Poems/His Reasons
HIS REASONS
I 'spose you kind o' wonder why your daddy's always blue,
An' why he loves the comp'ny of a little tot like you;
Why he loves to run his fingers through your curly, golden hair
Afore he says goodnight when you have lisp'd your evenin' pray'r.
An' I spose most folks are thinkin' that I'm just a wee bit queer,
'Cause I love to sit alone sometimes an' smoke my pipe out here
Where the hollyhocks are swayin' in the gently whisperin' breeze
That seems to sob a requiem in the branches of the trees.
But listen, little dearie, just afore you close your eyes,
There's reason for my loneliness an' reason for my sighs;
There's reason why I love to pat your curly little head
An' listen to your baby pray'rs beside your trundle bed.
A long, long time ago a woman held you to her breast,
When your dream ships went a-sailin' in the harbor of the west;
She held you close an' watched the stars a-twinklin' in the skies,
An' you, babe, were the theme o' all her low-sung lullabis.
No, I guess you can't recall to mind that sweet an' kindly face,
An' time has still'd the melodies that bless'd this old home place:
But just as though I might forget her tender eyes o' blue,
God left the depths o' heaven in the little eyes o' you;
An' He took a bit o' sunlight from His gardens over there
An' left it as a halo for your mother's golden hair.
An' He pluck'd the roses from her lips an' gave them all to yours,
As sweet an' fresh an' fragrant as the dew that drapes the moors.
An' I love to sit an' smoke an' dream o' days that are to be,
When you will bring the presence o' your mother back to me;
When you will bring the sunshine o' her sweet an' tender face
From out the halls o' heaven to this quiet, sacred place;
An' baby dear I'll keep you here until that final day
When she will call me to her from the place across the way;
An' that's why your daddy's lonely; that's why he's always blue—
An' that's why he loves the comp'ny of a little tot like you!