Swiftly the changes come. Each day <br />Sees some lost beauty blown away <br />And some new touch of lovely grace <br />Come into life to take its place. <br />The little babe that once we had <br />One morning woke a roguish lad; <br />The babe that we had put to bed <br />Out of our arms and lives had fled. <br /> <br />Frocks vanished from our castle then, <br />Ne'er to be worn or seen again, <br />And in his knickerbocker pride <br />He boasted pockets at each side <br />And stored them deep with various things- <br />Stones, tops and jacks and-colored strings; <br />Then for a time we claimed the joy <br />Of calling him our little boy. <br /> <br />Brief was the reign of such a spell. <br />One morning sounded out a bell; <br />With tears I saw her brown eyes swim <br />And knew that it was calling him. <br />Time, the harsh master of us all, <br />Was bidding him to heed his call; <br />This shadow fell across life's pool- <br />Our boy was on his way to school. <br /> <br />Our little boy! And still we dreamed, <br />For such a little boy he seemed! <br />And yesterday, with eyes aglow <br />Like one who has just come to know <br />Some great and unexpected bliss, <br />He bounded in, announcing this: <br />'Oh, Dad! Oh, Ma! Say, what d'you think? <br />This year we're going to write with ink!' <br /> <br />Here was a change I'd not foreseen, <br />Another step from what had been. <br />I paused a little while to think <br />About this older age of ink- <br />What follows this great step, thought I, <br />What next shall come as the time goes by? <br />And something said: 'His pathway leads <br />Unto the day he'll write with deeds.'<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-age-of-ink/
