Quand nous étions petits enfants (1960)

We walk this way,
For many a season,
I Remember,
When we were 
Both so very young,
And you, you had pony tails,
In your soft golden hair.
Sticks were rifles,
Taken from the woodland armoury,
And adventures to be had
every day,
And now , after all this time
when we stride
Sticks have another use,
But I am glad, that
we still walk this way.