My Mamma knew a little girl
’At used to run away
W’en her dear mother ’d start to curl
Her hair; an’ one fine day
Some gypsies took her off, somehow,
An’ stole her from her home,
An’ my! Her hair is awful now,
’Cause gypsies never comb!
An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nen
I never runned away again!
An’ never don’t make fun, she says,
Of folks ’at’s blind or lame,
Or got red hair or warts, unless
You want to be the same.
’Cause lots of times it happens so,
An’ surely if you do,
You never, never, never know
What’s going to happen you.
An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nen
I never don’t make fun again.
GONE
HE fell in a puddle and muddied his dress,
He struck little Bob with a hammer, I guess;
He cut sister’s curls with a big pair of shears
And left ragged edges down over her ears;
He muddied the floor that was just scrubbed so clean,
He lighted a match near the canned gasoline,
He broke all his soldiers and smashed all his toys,
And yet we forgave him, for boys will be boys.
He singed the cat’s whiskers and cut off its tail
And then turned it loose with its discordant wail;
He dropped bread and jelly upon a big chair
And thought of it only when Aunty sat there;
He sheared the pet poodle one midwinter day,
His father is frantic, his mother is gray,
His Aunt and his Grandma protest at his noise,
And then all forgive him, for boys will be boys.
He clamors for cookies, for jelly and jam,
He shuts ne’er a door, but he gives it a slam,
He dabbles in paint, be it red, blue or green,
He loves to play hob with the sewing machine;
And then—well, he’s gone into trousers and vests,
For years must be passing and time never rests,
And some day we look at a picture—and then
We wish—strange it is—that we had him again.
THE NEIGHBOR’S BOYS
SOMEBODY shot our cat’s eye out,
An’ stole our gate an’ just about
Scared Aunt Sophia Jane to death
So’s she could hardly get her breath,
By puttin’ on some sheets, all white,
’At just gave her a turble fright,
An’ who on earth do you suppose
Put on them big, white ghostes’ clothes
An’ made that turble screechy noise?—
The neighbor’s boys!
An’ every night it’s dark, you know,
Somebody plays some tick-tack-toe
On folkeses’ windows what’s a-scared,
An’ just as if they never cared
If they get caught or not, an’ when
You’re gone to bed they come again
Until you’re just so nervous you
Don’t hardly know just what to do;
An’ who makes such a scary noise?
The neighbor’s boys.
An’ ’en somebody tears your clothes
An’ skins your face an’ hurts your nose
Until it bleeds, an’ then your Ma
Says ’at she never, never saw