WHEN “Pop” is bald, and my hair is white, And the stage is set, for a long twilight;
When we are alone in our little den
He with his pipe and I with my pen,
’Twill not be regrets that make us sigh
For we will have things that the world can’t buy.
For we have snatched from the mirth mad throng
A little of love and a deathless song.
A few glad dreams and our tho’ts all white,
The silence of God, in the long twilight.
When “Pop” is bald and my hair is white,
And we’re nearing the end of the lo............