Poem For His First-Born Son

One thing that's yours, my little child
Your poor old Dad is simply wild
To own. It's not a book or toy
It's your imagination, boy.
If I possessed it, what a time
I'd have, nor need to spend a dime.

I wish that I could get astride
A broom, and have a horse to ride;
Or climb into the swing, and be
A sailor on the deep blue sea.
Or believe a chair a choo-choo train
Bound anywhere and back again.
Ring Lardner (≈1915)

Blogger's Note
If ever there was a writer who did not want his image enlarged, it would be Ring Lardner.
If per chance an image of Mr. Lardner could be presented in direct proportion to his influence, I would have to negotiate with Mr. Infinity.