[O] From “Rhymes of Childhood,” by James Whitcomb Riley. Copyright, 1890. Used by special permission of the publishers. The Bobbs-Merrill Company.
MOTHER
BY ROSE FYLEMAN
When mother comes each morning
She wears her oldest things,
She doesn’t make a rustle,
She hasn’t any rings;
She says, “Good-morning, chickies,
It’s such a lovely day,
Let’s go into the garden
And have a game of play!”
When mother comes at tea-time
Her dress goes shoo-shoo-shoo,
She always has a little bag,
Sometimes a sunshade too;
She says, “I am so hoping
There’s something left for me;
Please hurry up, dear Nanna,
I’m dying for my tea.”
When mother comes at bed-time
Her evening dress she wears,
She tells us each a story
When we have said our prayers;
And if there is a party
She looks so shiny bright
It’s like a lovely fairy
Dropped in to say good-night.
THE GOODEST MOTHER
Evening was falling, cold and dark,
And people hurried along the way
As if they were longing soon to mark
Their own home candle’s cheering ray.