The Best Laid Plans

On going home, all of the way
'I am in deep thought lost,

And try to find sweet words wherewith
My mother to accost.

How I shall greet her when again

In the arms am locked
Of her, I had not seen for years,
Who once my cradle rocked.
And countless beauteous sentiments
And speeches I prepare,
The time stood -still it seemed, but lo!

I reached home, ere aware.

I stepped into her little room,

- My mother flies to me:
And mute I hang upon her lips,
As fruits hang on a tree-.