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Edgar Guest - Growing Down
Work rating: Medium

Time was I thought of growing up,
    But that was ere the babies came;
I`d dream and plan to be a man
    And win my share of wealth and fame,
For age held all the splendors then
    And wisdom seemed lifes brightest crown
For mortal brow. It`s different now.
    Each evening finds me growing down.

I`m not so keen for growing up
    To wrinkled cheek and heavy tongue,
And sluggish blood; with little Bud
    I long to be a comrade young.
His sports are joys I want to share,
    His games are games I want to play,
An old man grim`s no chum for him
    And so I`m growing down to-day.

I`m back to marbles and to tops,
    To flying kites and one-ol`-cat;
"Fan acres!" I now loudly cry;
    I also take my turn at bat;
I`ve had my fling at growing up
    And want no old man`s fair renown.
To be a boy is finer joy,
    And so I`ve started growing down.

Once more I`m learning games I knew
    When I was four and five and six,
I`m going back along life`s track
    To find the same old-fashioned tricks,
And happy are the hours we spend
    Together, without sigh or frown.
To be a boy is Age`s joy,
    And so to him I`m growing down.
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