My Virtual Reading Room

Worn Out

They left me home to "mind" her and I smiled at such a task,
To mind a lovely three-year-old's a job that I should ask.
Thought I: "I'll let her romp about, and sit beneath a tree,
And smoke my pipe and read a book, as happy as can be."

And now the day is over, and at last she's safe in bed,
But, oh, my feet are weary by the strenuous pace she led!
My nerves are all a-tingle and my muscles stiff and sore--
There's too much steam in three-year-olds for a man of forty-four!

I chased her through the garden, and I chased her down the street,
And little girls of three glad years have wings upon their feet.
I thought I had her anchored at a sand box, full content,
But when I sat me down to read, away Miss Mischief went.

I rescued her from water, and I rescued her from fire,
I took her from a fence or two all tangled with the wire;
I hadn't any notion there was so much mischief round
As in the day I minded her that little lady found.

But now the day is over, and now I'm nearly dead,
And now I hear her crying, "I don't want to go to bed!"
And I have learned a lesson which I didn't know before:
There's too much steam in three-year-olds for a man of forty-four.

(Edgar A. Guest)