 | Short poems for short people |  |
A WAIL.
I somehow think my fate a very sad one;
I 've not my rightful share of earthly joy,
Doomed as I am, through all my future life-time,
To sorrow that I was n't born a boy.
I 've not my rightful share of earthly joy,
Doomed as I am, through all my future life-time,
To sorrow that I was n't born a boy.
I 've tried so hard to care for dolls, like most girls;
But no, they don't amuse me one wee mite.
There 's nothing to my fancy half so lovely
As just to spin a top or fly a kite.
But no, they don't amuse me one wee mite.
15
As just to spin a top or fly a kite.
I often watch, beside my bedroom window,
The merry, jolly boys that romp and race,
When school is over, in the street beneath me,
And wish that one of them could take my place.
The merry, jolly boys that romp and race,
When school is over, in the street beneath me,
And wish that one of them could take my place.
Mamma considers me an awful creature,
Papa believes me made but to annoy.
Of course it must be very, very dreadful,
To have a child that 's neither girl nor boy.
Papa believes me made but to annoy.
Of course it must be very, very dreadful,
To have a child that 's neither girl nor boy.
But, then, am I to blame? It 's hard to think so.
A blind man cannot see without his eyes,
Nor yet a cripple walk without his crutches,
No matter how much either of them tries.
A blind man cannot see without his eyes,
Nor yet a cripple walk without his crutches,
No matter how much either of them tries.
And so the only thing that 's truly left me,
Is to conclude my lot of earthly joy
Does n't compare at all with other people's,
Lamenting that I was n't born a boy!
Is to conclude my lot of earthly joy
Does n't compare at all with other people's,
Lamenting that I was n't born a boy!
| Short poems for short people | |