They mean such a wonderful lot to me,
It's quite absurd how my soul is smitten
With Padie, who's four, and Bay, who's three,
And Sufi, a Persian kitten!
So mother must worry, and father must fuss,
But I'll fake these songs to a sadder version
When manhood steals the boys from us,
And the Bottle-o pinches the Persian!
WHISPER!
Hush, you, hush! I heard a patter
On the 'randah, in the wet!
Now 'n again, we've heard him chatter,
But we've never seen him yet.
SUNDAY DINNER
The butcher comed and he bringed no meat,
But he crawled in the poultry pen,
And he putted his hand among they feet,
And catched the father hen.
He catched it as hard as anything,
But it didn't once crowed at all,
And he tied its feet with a bundle of string
And hanged it up on the wall.
And now and again its wings went flap,
But that didn't frighten me!
I runned for my little brother chap
To come outside and see.
The father hen's not crowing now,
The ittooest ittoo bit;
We're going to tell our father how
The butcher's hurted it!
Our father has mended the bathroom door
And the leg of the rocking chair:
He mended the fence long time before,
And he bought my horse some hair.