From The Topeka State Journal, November 20, 1913. By John Stanley Crandell.
My memory loves to linger on the days of long ago,
When I was just a little chap of seven years or so;
There wasn’t any woodshed, and there were not any cows,
And no big and juicy apples hanging down from laden boughs.
There wasn’t any meadow, and there wasn’t any stream.
I don’t recall an attic, never tasted milk with cream.
Still, in spite of all that’s lacking, I can really, truly say
That my memory loves to linger on that happy bygone day.
There wasn’t any oaken bucket hanging in the well,
But the sundaes at the candy store were really something swell.
I don’t remember smelling any smell of new-mown hay,
But the odors up the airshaft were different every day.
I never had to split the wood, or other similar chores;
My principle hard labor was watching baseball scores.
I didn’t weed the garden, and I didn’t drive the mare,
But I did play penny ante and I learned to smoke and swear.
There wasn’t any mountain path for me to toil and climb,
But when I got up those five flights I knew it every time.
I didn’t learn my lessons by the log fire’s ruddy blaze,
But simply pushed a button and turned on the tungsten rays.
No charming valley met my gaze, no woods and pastures new,
But with some kid I’d go to see “The Follies,” or “Revue.”
There wasn’t any spelling bee, no general store for Pa,
But I certainly enjoyed myself with Movies-loving Ma.
And so, altho’ the things worth while in youth I missed, I know,
My memory loves to linger on those days of long ago.
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