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...ALMANACH DU PRINTEMPS VIVAROIS by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE IMPOSSIBLE INDISPENSIBILITY OF THE ARS POETICA by HAYDEN CARRUTH EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER I'M GOING BACK TO SOMETHING by DAVID IGNATOW GETHSEMANE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: THE VILLAGE ATHEIST by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |