Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Babies Don't Keep

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
empty the dustpan, dispose of the moth.

Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursey, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless, as Little Boy Blue,
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby, loo).

Dishes are waiting, and bills are past-due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peek-a-boo).

The shopping's not done, and there's nothing for stew,
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo.

But I'm playing Kanga, and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby, loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait 'till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.
-Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

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