An' then I chuckled softly to myself while dreaming there
An' I saw her standing o'er me combing out my tangled hair.
I could feel again the tugging, an' I heard the yell I gave
When she struck a snarl, an' softly I could hear her say: "Be brave.
'Twill be over in a minute, and a little man like you
Shouldn't whimper at a little bit of pain the way you do."
Oh, I wouldn't mind the tugging at my scalp lock, and I know
That I'd gladly wear to please her that old flowing girlish bow;
And I think I'd even try to don once more that velvet suit,
And blush the same old blushes, as the women called me cute,
Could the dear old mother only take me by the hand again,
And be as proud of me right now as she was always then.
The First Steps
Last night I held my arms to you
And you held yours to mine
And started out to march to me
As any soldier fine.
You lifted up our little feet
And laughingly advanced;
And I stood there and gazed upon
Your first wee steps, entranced.
You gooed and gurgled as you came
Without a sign of fear;
As though you knew, your journey o'er,
I'd greet you with a cheer.
And, what is more, you seemed to know,
Although you are so small,
That I was there, with eager arms,
To save you from a fall.
Three tiny steps you took, and then,
Disaster and dismay!
Your over-confidence had led
Your little feet astray.
You did not see what we could see
Nor fear what us alarms;
You stumbled, but ere you could fall
I caught you in my arms.
You little tyke, in days to come
You'll bravely walk alone,
And you may have to wander paths
Where dangers lurk unknown.
And, Oh, I pray that then, as now,
When accidents befall
You'll still remember that I'm near
To save you from a fall.
Signs
It's "be a good boy, Willie,"
And it's "run away and play,
For Santa Claus is coming
With his reindeer and his sleigh."
It's "mind what mother tells you,"
And it's "put away your toys,
For Santa Claus is coming
To the good girls and the boys."
Ho, Santa Claus is coming, there is Christmas in the air,
And little girls and little boys are good now everywhere.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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