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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Well, however, this Tommy fell asleep,
With the light of the stars on his face, poor sweep,
And when he awoke the night was half over,
And the star was really down in the clover.
So Tommy felt rather shiverin',
And home like the mischief, and creepin' in—
Poor craythur! and never a bite or a sup for him,
But only the father sittin' up for him—
And took a stick, and gave it him hot;
And for-shamed him, and sent him to bed like a shot.
With the light of the stars on his face, poor sweep,
And when he awoke the night was half over,
And the star was really down in the clover.
So Tommy felt rather shiverin',
And home like the mischief, and creepin' in—
Poor craythur! and never a bite or a sup for him,
But only the father sittin' up for him—
And took a stick, and gave it him hot;
And for-shamed him, and sent him to bed like a shot.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |