The poem
By parents I would not be pinned, Nor in my home abide, For I was wanton as the wind And tameless as the tide; So scornful of domestic hearth, And bordered garden path, I sought the wilder ways of earth, The roads of wrath.
It scares me now to think of how Foolhardily I fared; Though mighty scarred of pelt and pow A dozen deaths I've dared; Yet there are trails I would explore, And wilds that for me wait . . . Alas! I'll wander nevermore,-- The hour's too late.
The folks are at my picture show, I smoke my pipe and sigh. Soft-slippered by the ember's glow A baby-sitter I. Behold! In dressing-gown of mauve, To comfort reconciled, A rover rocks the cradle of His new grand-child.