Time was I thought of growing up, <br /> But that was ere the babies came; <br />I'd dream and plan to be a man <br /> And win my share of wealth and fame, <br />For age held all the splendors then <br /> And wisdom seemed lifes brightest crown <br />For mortal brow. It's different now. <br /> Each evening finds me growing down. <br /> <br />I'm not so keen for growing up <br /> To wrinkled cheek and heavy tongue, <br />And sluggish blood; with little Bud <br /> I long to be a comrade young. <br />His sports are joys I want to share, <br /> His games are games I want to play, <br />An old man grim's no chum for him <br /> And so I'm growing down to-day. <br /> <br />I'm back to marbles and to tops, <br /> To flying kites and one-ol'-cat; <br />'Fan acres!' I now loudly cry; <br /> I also take my turn at bat; <br />I've had my fling at growing up <br /> And want no old man's fair renown. <br />To be a boy is finer joy, <br /> And so I've started growing down. <br /> <br />Once more I'm learning games I knew <br /> When I was four and five and six, <br />I'm going back along life's track <br /> To find the same old-fashioned tricks, <br />And happy are the hours we spend <br /> Together, without sigh or frown. <br />To be a boy is Age's joy, <br /> And so to him I'm growing down.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/growing-down-3/
