He's doing double duty now; <br />Time's silver gleams upon his brow, <br />And there are lines upon his face <br />Which only passing years can trace. <br />And yet he's turned back many a page <br />Long written in the book of age, <br />For since their boy has marched away, <br />This kindly father, growing gray, <br />Is doing for the mother true <br />The many things the boy would do. <br /> <br />Just as the son came home each night <br />With youthful step and eyes alight, <br />So he returns, and with a shout <br />Of greeting puts her grief to rout. <br />He says that she shall never miss <br />The pleasure of that evening kiss, <br />And with strong arms and manner brave <br />He simulates the hug he gave, <br />And loves her, when the day is done, <br />Both as a husband and a son. <br /> <br />His laugh has caught a clearer ring; <br />His step has claimed the old-time swing, <br />And though his absence hurts him, too, <br />The bravest thing that he can do <br />Is just to try to take his place <br />And keep the smiles on mother's face. <br />So, merrily he jests at night— <br />Tells her with all a boy's delight <br />Of what has happened in the town, <br />And thus keeps melancholy down. <br /> <br />Her letters breathe of hope and cheer; <br />No note of gloom she sends from here, <br />And as her husband reads at night <br />The many messages she writes, <br />He chuckles o'er the closing line. <br />She's failed his secret to divine— <br />'When you get home,' she tells the lad, <br />'You'll scarcely know your doting dad; <br />Although his hair is turning gray, <br />He seems more like a boy each day.'<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/taking-his-place/
