The Lid of a Happy Mother in the Falling Summer Rain

Four little names, one on each lid, carved out by a boyish hand. And underneath there lieth hid histories of the happy band once playing here and pausing oft to hear the sweet refrain that came and went aloft in the falling summer rain. I look in with loving eyes. For folded here with well known care, a goodly gathering lies the record of a peaceful life. No toys in this first chest remain, for all are carried in their old age to join again in another small meg's play. Ah, happy mother. Well, i know you hear like a sweet refrain, lullabies ever soft and low in the falling winter rain. Be worthy love, and love