A BUSY MORNING by BURGES JOHNSON

One morning mother had to be away
And nurse forgot me for a little while;
Oh, when I get to thinking of that day
I lie quite still and shut my eyes and smile.
Then grown-ups say, "He sleeps, the little dear!
And dreams an angel whispers in his ear."

It really isn't often such a chance
Can come to such a little chap as me.
To get away from every watchful glance
And just start out to see what I can see;
To feel of things, and pound with all my might,
And learn which ones to break and which to bite.

It's true I often wish I hadn't tried
To see just what was in that little jug;
I spoiled a dress that was my special pride,
And made a dreadful black spot on the rug.
It wasn't all my fault, for I should think
A tippy table was no place for ink.

One memory I always shall enjoy,
Though I was spanked for doing it, alas!
I pounded hard that other little boy
Who made up faces at me from a glass.
He frowned and stuck his tongue out, and it's true
That those are things no proper child should do.

It's strange that in the rooms where grown-ups stay
There should be such a lot of useless waste;
So many things that are no good for play,
And almost nothing that is good to taste.
And everywhere there is so much you find
That gets you into trouble of some kind.

It isn't fair that they should always keep
The nicest looking things so out of reach.
The road to some is very long and steep,
But on that day I got a chance at each.
And so I lie and dream, and smile and—wait.
I've had @3one@1 day of life, at any rate.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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