My Babbles has a nasty knack Of keeping monkeys on her back. A great big black one comes and swings Right on her sash or pinny strings. It is a horrid thing and wild And makes her such a naughty child. She comes and stands beside my chair With almost an offended air And says: -- "Oh, Father, why can't I?" And stamps her foot and starts to cry -- I look at Mother in dismay... What little girl is this, to-day? She throws about her nicest toys And makes a truly dreadful noise Till Mother rises from her place With quite a Sunday churchy face And Babbles silently is led Into the dark and her own bed. Never a kiss or one Goodnight, Never a glimpse of candle light. Oh, how the monkey simply flies! Oh, how poor Babbles calls and cries, Runs from the room with might and main, "Father dear, I am good again." When she is sitting on my knee Snuggled quite close and kissing me, Babbles and I, we think the same -- Why, that the monkey never came Only a terrible dream maybe... What did she have for evening tea? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADVICE TO A RAVEN IN RUSSIA by JOEL BARLOW THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW by JOHN DONNE THE BRIDE by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL TIME TO RISE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |