when i think about things
  i remember the flings
and the lazy afternoon walks
and stolen hugs in the dusk
i think about mother
busy in her smoky kitchen
and father with a pipe
in the corner of his mouth
puffing out smoke like a sage
i see grandmother's toothless smile
and hear her sing a happy song
lustily as if there was a throng
dying to hear her yodel
one last time this side of the great divide
and then i think of the girl
in the cheap cotton dress
and how she thought she was taken
although i was no more than a cadet
in these matters of sore hearts and headaches