Charles J Baker

 

Swinging round the newel post,

To race up tall colonial stairs,

And into the upstairs parlor where,

Bright sunshine fills the summer air,

Floating through colonial windows,

From which I see bright yellow meadow,

And dark green of a distant wood,

And on a single windowpane,

Where Mr. Baker etched his name,

With the diamond ring on his right hand.

Cranky Mr. Baker who never married,

And wore that ring for consolation,

My father claimed with his subtle smile,

Who tousled my hair with his right hand.