Make Believe

By IRA L. WOOD THERE is a land not far away, Where we, as children, loved to play. And some of us, though grown and tall, Live mostly there like children small, And make believe what ne'er could be, As though it were reality.

PERHAPS the girls, as once in play, Are living actual life to-day; Are tending dolls that play and run, And bake mud pies out in the sun. Yet, wistfully, dream of their youth When make believe seemed more the truth.

IT's where boys play they're pirates bold, Burying chests of treasured gold; Or with tin swords, in bloodless fight, Put all the nation's foes to flight, Victorious, forget the last Most shameful spanking of their past.

THE boys that once played pirates bold, Are aging now and some are old; Yet some in spite of age are boys, For they have kept their childhood joys; The old ones only lost the way To make believe of youthful play.

AND there you'll find mud pies and cakes, Are just as good as mother bakes. There any doll will dine and sup Just like some little girl grown up. But not in real life will you find This land-for it's within the mind.

I often think to make believe Gives greater joy than to achieve; For when we make believe in life, There's naught of sorrow pain or strife; And though it be a phantasy, The pleasure is reality.