Author Thomas S. Jones, Jr. Across the fields of yesterday He sometimes comes to me,A little lad just back from play -- The lad I used to be.And yet he smiles so wistfully Once he has crept within,I wonder if he hopes to see The man I might have been. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 3 (2 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments