Uncle Bill's Attic

By James W. Foley

Our Uncle Bill's attic is half full of toys,
With some that are almost brand-new;
He's got things up there for most all boys
From ten years old clear down to two.
And one day he gave me some books from up there
Like boys had a long time ago;
And I asked if the boy they belong to would care,
But he just sort of smiled and said no.

Sometimes we go in his attic to play
And find such a lot of fine things;
A whole lot of picture books piled away
And tops that were wound up with strings.
And Uncle Bill told us to use what was there
Just as if it was ours, and we'd go,
But we'd ask if the boy they belong to would care,
And he just sort of smiled and said no.

And my! There were sleds with runners all rust,
And five or six good pairs of skates,
Some old-fashioned toys that were covered with dust,
And fish lines and school books and slates,
Which Uncle Bill told us we fellows might share,
But always put back when we go;
And we thought the boy they belong to might care,
But he just smiled and said no.

And the boy they belong to, I guess was away.
At least, we all thought he must be;
For all through the house they could hear us at play,
But he never came up there to see.
And we would pile everything back up with care
And ask Uncle Bill when we'd go
If the boy they belong to would know we'd been there,
But he just sort of smiled and said no.

Our Uncle Bill's attic is half full of toys,
Some old ones and some almost new;
He's got things up there for most all kinds of boys
From ten years clear down to two.
And often when we boys go up there to play
We ask Uncle Bill when we go
If the boy they belong to will be back that day,
And he smiles sort of sad and says no.