 | Verse in bloom |  |
72
HOME FROM BUSINESS
Our little bud of ParadiseIs wakeful, Father. I suppose
His clever brain already knows
That if he bubbles long enough
His head will lean against the rough
Attraction of your overcoat.
The more I sing him lullabies,
The more persistently he tries
To tell me frankly to my face
That what he wants is Daddy's bass,
Especially the deepest note.
I heard you in the hall, and flew—
How lovely! This is mine for you!—
At once to disarrange your hair
And turn you into Baby's bear.
Now, while I set the cloth for tea
And make the toast, run up and be
A sleepy sound instead of me!
| Verse in bloom | |