A poem, my father wrote down, just after I was born in 1951.
The poem is posted outside of a restaurant called "Durgin Park" in Boston, Mass.
The original author remains unknown.

Just a Boy

Get to understand the lad,
He's not eager to be bad.
If the right he always knew,
He would be as old as you.
Were he now exceedingly wise,
He'd be just about your size.
When he does things that annoy,
Don't forget he's just a boy.

Could he know and understand,
He would need no guiding hand.
But he's young and hasn't learned,
How life's corners must be turned.
Doesn't know from day to day,
There is more to life but play.
More to face than selfish joy,
Don't forget he's just a boy.

Being just a boy he'll do much,
You will not want him to.
He'll be careless in his ways,
Having his disobedient days.
Willful, wild and headstrong too,
He'll need guidance, kind and true.
Things of value he'll destroy,
But reflect - he's just a boy.

Just a boy who needs a friend,
Patient, kindly to the end.
Needs a father who will show him,
The things he wants to know.
Take him with you when you walk,
Listen when he wants to talk.
His companionship enjoy -
Don't forget he's just a boy

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