THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
SOMETIMES at night I get awake
And all’s so dark and still—
Why I’m ’bout scared even to take
A deep-down breath, until
I peer ’round first and try to see
If ev’rything’s all right!
For the terriblest things can be,—
The Middle of the Night.
I want so much to cry right out—
But I am awful ’fraid!
’Cause, if those black things were about,
They’d hear the noise I made.
And mother sleeps so very sound,
She mightn’t hear, you see,
And then they’d make a great big bound
And run away with me.
So I lie just still as I can—
My heart a-thumping so!
Wishing I were a great big man,
So I’d not scare, you know.
When oh!—the covers pull away
And just as I begin
To scream—why, I hear mother say
It’s her tucking them in!
WHEN OUR FATHERS WERE LITTLE BOYS
WHEN our fathers were little boys,
Before they grew to men,
I wonder did they make a noise
Or have a good time then?
I wonder did they ever fight
And punch each other’s nose?
Or if they always did just right
And never spoiled their clothes.
I wonder did their mothers scold
Sometimes and make them cry?
I wonder if they ever told
A teeny-weeny lie?
I wonder if they ever had
Such dirty hands and face?
I wonder were they ever mad
And banged things ’round the place?
I wonder did they ever run
To fires hard as they could?
Or if they called it better fun
To sit still and be good?
I wonder were they ever small
And kept back in the shade?
Or didn’t they have to grow at all,
But just come ready made?