At the Bars of Memory and Other Poems/To a Vagrant
TO A VAGRANT
Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher!
But as O saw you standin' there,
I thought I could trace
O'er a boy's happy face
A ringlet o' wind-toss'd hair.
An' I thought I could picture a mother
With a face like the heaven's dawn.
As she heard her child's pray'rs,
By his bedside upstairs
When the curtains at evenin' were drawn.
Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher!
But when I saw the glint in your eyes,
Wondered I if she knew
What had happened to you,
An' if you ever thought o' her sighs.
An' I wondered if you ever wrote her—
Yes, I know folks call you a bum—
But she's prayin' tonight
By the lamp's yellow light
For the boy, her boy, who don't come.
Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher!
But as I heard you laugh just now,
I thought I could trace
In the lines o' your face
The kisses she pressed on your brow;
An' I thought I could hear the babble
Of a wee, little chap in his glee,
As he galloped the course
On a white wooden horse
No higher'n his gran'daddy's knee.
Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher!
But I just couldn't help but see
How sweet-like you looked
Afore you went and booked
For the ports that can never be.
An' I just couldn't keep from wonderin'
If you weren't hungry tonight
To hear mother say:
"Dear Father, I pray"—
Back home in the yellow light.
Preacher? No, I ain't no preacher!
But I'm askin' you just the same,
As a mere passin' friend
Who has noticed your trend
Though he don't even know your name.
To go back to the woman who's waitin'
An' fill her old heart with joy—
An' kiss her wrinkled brow:
For though you're a man now,
In her eyes—you're only a boy!