Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/145

 As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,

Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!

But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,

Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know

That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me!

Excep'  jest 'fore Christmas, when I 'm good as I kin be!

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still,

His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"

The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become

Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!

But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz,

That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"

But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me

When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,

Was made, they say, for proper kids, an' not for naughty boys;

So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,

An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;

Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men,

An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;

But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree,

Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!