THE BOY WHO LIVES NEXT DOOR.
By S. E. Kiser.
The boy who lives next door
Has freckles on his face;
His ears are red and hang
Away out into space,
And when I hear a dog ki-yi
And see it flee in terror, I
Can quickly guess the cause—
’Tis merely that one more
Poor little victim knows
A boy resides next door.
He runs across the lawn
I’ve nursed with jealous care,
And, in the summer-time,
Knocks down the flowers there!
It seems to give him pure delight
To yell around with all his might,
And every week or so
A pebble finds its way
Against a light of glass
For which I have to pay.
He has no teeth in front,
His hands are cracked and brown,
Twice he has nearly burned
Our summer kitchen down!
He calls to people, “Hey! Watch out!”
And when they jump he whoops about—
I used to think if God
Would take him from below
Up to the sky I’d try
To bravely bear the blow!
The little child whose love
Is all to me, one day
Was stricken suddenly
When I was far away—
The boy who lives next door forgot
To yell around, but ran and brought
The doctor to the bed,
And when I came, at last
Shrank from me with a look
Of pity as I passed!
The boy who lives next door
Brought in his tops and gun,
And pocketfuls of trash
To please our little one;
He played beside my darling’s bed,
Turned cartwheels, and stood on his head
And God was good to me—
Let’s wait awhile before
We utterly condemn
“The boy who lives next door!”
Old scrap book.