Second Boyhood Poem by Folger McKinsey

He had a willow whistle and a fish hook that had been
Made with a youngster's witchery by the bending of a pin;
He'd cut a slender sapling for a pole and made a line
From little scraps of hempen cord and little snips of twine;
His feet were bare, head tousled—but his smile was good to see,
And when I looked at him it brought my boyhood back to me!

He put his willow whistle to his lips and blew a blast
That echoed down the valleys where the blooms were tangled fast;
Another youngster joined him, with another tousled head,
And on the conquering hero his recruited comrade led.
They wandered off in glory and I watched them as in dream,
And I went with them down yonder to the little fishing stream.

That day I saw them feeling, where the water ran so cool,
Its ripples lave their bare feet as they dangled in the pool,
And I could see them shedding shirt and overalls with vim
As they turned aside from fishing for an old-time boyhood swim.
Ah, never felt the water half so good or half so fine
As in that hour of fancy with those boyhood friends of mine !

I saw them leave the ripples when the afternoon drew near,
And the summer sunshine sizzled the oppressive atmosphere.
They struck across the meadows for a neighboring melon field
To test the juicy fragrance of the huge and fruitful yield;
I saw them try the peaches, and amid the orchard's hush
Taste the golden, mellow apples that we called the maiden's blush !

I saw them come at evening with a string of 'yellow neds,'
Their tousled topnots showing through the straw hats on their heads,
Brown as twin autumn berries and as happy as the birds
With songs to tell the gladness that they could not tell in words—
And how I longed to go with them unto the garret room
To heal life's sweetest tiredness with the sleep that dreams of bloom !

A youngster with a whistle whittled out of willow wood—
How little could he know of all he brought me of good,
How little could he fathom that beside the little stream
I sat in silent shadow dreaming all his boyhood dream!
How little could he understand that in his careless glee
The gates of youth had swung again that golden day for me!