THE TRUANT
The wise years saw him go from them,
Untaught by them, yet wise;
He had but romped with the hoyden years,
Unwitting how time flies;
Whose laughter glooms to wistfulness
At swift, undreamt good-byes.
The wise, grave, patient mistresses
Of his young manhood’s school,
The wise, grave, patient years-to-be—
He never knew their rule;
And yet he marches by a man,
A hero, and no fool!
The wise years see him go from them,
Untaught by them, yet wise;
The lad who played where, yesterday,
Girls’ kisses were the prize!
They wonder whence his manhood came,
So well he lives—and dies!
R. R. Kirk, Pvt., G2, S.O.S.