As long as we are on a poem kick, here’s another one. I actually like this one a bit more than the previous one.
By the way, I’m not claiming that these poems are great literature. But they are kind of fun.
This one is from 1907, written by Edwin L. Sabin:
The Barefoot Trail
Out of the dear front gate it ran,
Into the sun and dew and tan;
Traversed the dusty, peaceful street
Arched by maples, in mem’ry sweet;
Crossed the pasture with clover lush;
Entered the copse, where trilled the thrush;
Rambled, loitered, and played—and then
Turned to mother and home again.
Street, and pasture and hill and vale—
Such was the course of the Barefoot Trail;
Pausing and veering for this and that—
Now for a game of one-old-cat,
Now for a rollicking butterfly,
Now for a nest hung just too high,
Now for a brookside haunt—and then
Back to mother and home again.
Never a sun for this trail too hot,
Never a nook that knew it not;
Twisting and turning from scene to scene,
It checkered the realm of the gold and green.
Passenger—courier boyhood, slim;
Passport—whistle and tattered brim;
Province—to beckon afar, and then
To lead to mother and home again.
Many a secret and many a tale
Ours who followed the Barefoot Trail;
Wonders witnessed and marvels heard;
Kinship of squirrel and hare and bird,
The shortest route to the swimming-hole,
The finny spoil of the swaying pole,
Care-free triumphs and joys—and then,
Best—the “mother and home again.”