A QUANDARY

WHEN they are tall and all grown up,
I wonder where the children go?
I wonder how one finds the place—
My mother says she doesn't know.
The little boy that's I, must go
To this strange meeting-place some day,
When I outgrow my starchy kilts,
And nursery things are put away.
Must I go there quite by myself?
How shall I find the proper door,
That hides so close and shuts away
The little children gone before?