He swung on the gate,
and looked down the street
Awaiting the sound
of familiar feet.
Then suddenly came
to the sweet child's eyes,
The marvelous glory
of morning skies;
For a manly form
with a steady stride
Drew near to the gate
that opened wide,
As the boy ran forward
and joyfully cried,
"Papa's coming!"

The frightened face
of a little child,
Looked out the window,
with eyes made wild
By the shadowy shapes
in the pale moonlight,
And a glimpse of a drunk
man in the night,
Cursing and reeling
from side to side;
The poor child crying,
and trying to hide,
Clung to his mother's
skirts and cried,
"Papa's coming!"

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I'd appreciate it if you'd take a moment to sign my Guestbook while you're here. Thank you!

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