Down the lanes of boyhood, hear their laughter ring!
See the tousled army marching straightway to a spring;
Flat upon the ground they fall, just to get a drink,
Here’s a thirst emporium where glasses never clink,
No glittering place of red and gold the passer-by to snare,
Yet, rich with Nature’s coloring, a thousand times more fair.
Edgar Albert Guest ~ The lanes of boyhood
Sunday Sayings: A pick from the poets, writers or scriptures for my grandson, who is another year older today