HE WAS A YOUNG BOY AND FRAIL,

A little shy about speaking To a stranger who smiledTrue Love was the Holy Grail Of his young seeking:

Foolish, young, and lovely child, Too fresh to last

Love's one short summer past.

He was a smart boy and so Attractive about telling

What his innocence plainly showed, that

He could never think or know

Life has a way of dispelling

All the dreams worth reaching at. But, he was young

With so many songs unsung-

Love was a summer long;

The child-boy grew

Rusty with days of song

The summer through:

We sang awhile, I lost my smileThen the ending Of pretending: Shining eyes, Lovely face, False good-byes Out of place

In the time of going; But he was a boy

With no way of knowing,

The end of joy

Is as ordinary

As dying-

Am I a fairy?

He asked me, crying.

He was a young boy and real With the loveliness of youth, Remarkably youthful and sweet— Now he is disillusioned; the appeal Is dying; he despises truth. Often I see him on the street Looking lonely and young,

The boy in the red nylon jacket.

DOYLE EUGENE LIVINGSTON

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