POETRY.
I can do nothing but annoy; For little boys are all born bad, And I am born a little boy.
it doesn't matter what's the game, Whether its Indians, trains, or ball; I always know I am to blame, If I amuse myself at all.
I said one day on mother's knee,
"If you would send us right away To foreign lands across the sea, You wouldn't see us every day.
"We shouldn't worry any more, In those strange lands with queer new toys; Put here we stamp, and play, and roar, And wear your life out with our noise.
"The savages would never mind, And you'd be glad to have us go There, nobody would be unkind, For you dislike your children so."
Then mother turned, and looked quite red, I do not think she could have heard ; She put me off her knee instead Of answering me a single word.
She went, and did not even nod,
What had I said that could annoy ? Mothers are really very odd
If you are born a little boy.
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