Part 9

She was sorry she hadn't asked others to come, She might just as well have had eight; She said she was downcast and terribly glum Because her dear husband was late. She apologized then for the home she was in, For the state of the rugs and the chairs, For the children who made such a horrible din, And then for the squeak in the stairs.

When the dinner began she apologized twice For the olives, because they were small; She was certain the celery, too, wasn't nice, And the soup didn't suit her at all. She was sorry she couldn't get whitefish instead Of the trout that the fishmonger sent, But she hoped that we'd manage somehow to be fed, Though her dinner was not what she meant.

She spoke her regrets for the salad, and then Explained she was really much hurt, And begged both our pardons again and again For serving a skimpy dessert. She was sorry for this and sorry for that, Though there really was nothing to blame. But I thought to myself as I put on my hat, Perhaps she is sorry we came.

Yesterday

I've trod the links with many a man, And played him club for club; 'Tis scarce a year since I began And I am still a dub. But this I've noticed as we strayed Along the bunkered way, No one with me has ever played As he did yesterday.

It makes no difference what the drive, Together as we walk, Till we up to the ball arrive, I get the same old talk: "To-day there's something wrong with me, Just what I cannot say.

"Would you believe I got a three For this hole--yesterday?" I see them top and slice a shot, And fail to follow through, And with their brassies plough the lot, The very way I do. To six and seven their figures run, And then they sadly say: "I neither dubbed, nor foozled one When I played--yesterday."

I have no yesterdays to count, No good work to recall; Each morning sees hope proudly mount, Each evening sees it fall. And in the locker room at night, When men discuss their play, I hear them and I wish I might Have seen them--yesterday,

Oh, dear old yesterday! What store Of joys for men you hold! I'm sure there is no day that's more Remembered or extolled. I'm off my task myself a bit, My mind has run astray; I think, perhaps, I should have writ These verses--yesterday.

The Beauty Places

Here she walked and romped about, And here beneath this apple tree Where all the grass is trampled out The swing she loved so used to be. This path is but a path to you, Because my child you never knew.

'Twas here she used to stoop to smell The first bright daffodil of spring; 'Twas here she often tripped and fell And here she heard the robins sing. You'd call this but a common place, But you have never seen her face.

And it was here we used to meet. How beautiful a spot is this, To which she gayly raced to greet Her daddy with his evening kiss! You see here nothing grand or fine, But, Oh, what memories are mine!

The people pass from day to day And never turn their heads to see The many charms along the way That mean so very much to me. For all things here are speaking of The babe that once was mine to love.

The Little Old Man

The little old man with the curve in his back And the eyes that are dim and the skin that is slack, So slack that it wrinkles and rolls on his cheeks, With a thin little voice that goes "crack!" when he speaks, Never goes to the store but that right at his feet Are all of the youngsters who live on the street.

And the little old man in the suit that was black, And once might have perfectly fitted his back, Has a boy's chubby fist in his own wrinkled hand, And together they trudge off to Light-Hearted Land; Some splendid excursions he gives every day To the boys and the girls in his funny old way.

The little old man is as queer as can be; He'd spend all his time with a child on his knee; And the stories he tells I could never repeat, But they're always of good boys and little girls sweet; And the children come home at the end of the day To tell what the little old man had to say.

Once the little old man didn't trudge to the store, And the tap of his cane wasn't heard any more; The children looked eagerly for him each day And wondered why he didn't come out to play Till some of them saw Doctor Brown ring his bell, And they wept when they heard that he might not get well.

But after awhile he got out with his cane, And called all the children around him again; And I think as I see him go trudging along In the center, once more, of his light-hearted throng, That earth has no glory that's greater than this: The little old man whom the children would miss.

The Little Velvet Suit

Last night I got to thinkin' of the pleasant long ago, When I still had on knee breeches, an' I wore a flowing bow, An' my Sunday suit was velvet. Ma an' Pa thought it was fine, But I know I didn't like it--either velvet or design; It was far too girlish for me, for I wanted something rough Like what other boys were wearing, but Ma wouldn't buy such stuff.

Ma answered all my protests in her sweet an kindly way; She said it didn't matter what I wore to run an' play, But on Sundays when all people went to church an wore their best, Her boy must look as stylish an' as well kept as the rest. So she dressed me up in velvet, an' she tied the flowing bow, An' she straightened out my stockings, so that not a crease would show.

An' then I chuckled softly to myself while dreaming there An' I saw her standing o'er me combing out my tangled hair. I could feel again the tugging, an' I heard the yell I gave When she struck a snarl, an' softly I could hear her say: "Be brave. 'Twill be over in a minute, and a little man like you Shouldn't whimper at a little bit of pain the way you do."

Oh, I wouldn't mind the tugging at my scalp lock, and I know That I'd gladly wear to please her that old flowing girlish bow; And I think I'd even try to don once more that velvet suit, And blush the same old blushes, as the women called me cute, Could the dear old mother only take me by the hand again, And be as proud of me right now as she was always then.

The First Steps

Last night I held my arms to you And you held yours to mine And started out to march to me As any soldier fine. You lifted up our little feet And laughingly advanced; And I stood there and gazed upon Your first wee steps, entranced.

You gooed and gurgled as you came Without a sign of fear; As though you knew, your journey o'er, I'd greet you with a cheer. And, what is more, you seemed to know, Although you are so small, That I was there, with eager arms, To save you from a fall.