To the Boy

I have no wish, my little lad,
To climb the towering heights of fame.
I am content to be your dad
And share with you each pleasant game.
I am content to hold your hand
And walk along life's path with you
And talk of things we understand --
The birds and trees and skies of blue.

Though some may seek the smile of kings,
For me your laughter's joy enough;
I have no wish to claim the things
Which lure men into pathways rough.
I am happiest when you and I,
Unmindful of life's bitter cares,
Together watch the clouds drift by
Or follow boyhood's thoroughfares.

I crave no more of life than this:
Continuance of such a trust;
Your smile, whate'er the morning is,
Until my clay returns to dust.
If but this comradeship may last
Until I end my earthly task --
Your hand and mine by love held fast --
Fame has no charm for which I'd ask.

I would not trade one day with you
To wear the purple robes of power,
Nor drop your hand from mine to do
Some great deed in a selfish hour.
For you have brought to me joy serene
And made my soul supremely glad.
In life rewarded I have been;
'Twas all worthwhile to be your dad.

~ Edgar A. Guest