JUST HALF OF THAT, PLEASE
Grandmother says when I pass her the cake:
"Just half of that, please."
If I serve her the tenderest portion of steak:
"Just half of that, please."
And be the dessert a rice pudding or pie,
As I pass Grandma's share she is sure to reply,
With the trace of a twinkle to light up her eye:
"Just half of that, please."
I've cut down her portions but still she tells me:
"Just half of that, please."
Though scarcely a mouthful of food she can see:
"Just half of that, please."
If I pass her the chocolates she breaks one in two,
There's nothing so small but a smaller will do,
And she says, perhaps fearing she's taking from you:
"Just half of that, please."
When at last Grandma leaves us the angels will hear:
"Just half of that, please."
When with joys for the gentle and brave they appear:
"Just half of that, please."
And for fear they may think she is selfish up there,
Or is taking what may be a young angel's share,
She will say with the loveliest smile she can wear:
"Just half of that, please."
THE COMMON TOUCH
I would not be too wise—so very wise
That I must sneer at simple songs and creeds,
And let the glare of wisdom blind my eyes
To humble people and their humble needs.
I would not care to climb so high that I
Could never hear the children at their play,
Could only see the people passing by,
Yet never hear the cheering words they say.
I would not know too much—too much to smile
At trivial errors of the heart and hand,
Nor be too proud to play the friend the while,
And cease to help and know and understand.