Children aren’t happy with nothing
And that’s what parents were creat

Oh, “rorty” was a mid-Victorian w
Which meant “fine, splendid, jolly
And often to me it has reoccurred
In moments melancholy.
For instance, children, I think i

My fellow man I do not care for.
I often ask me, What’s he there f
The only answer I can find
Is, Reproduction of his kind.
If I’m supposed to swallow that,

A child need not be very clever
To learn that “Later, dear” means

I find it very difficult to enthus
Over the current news.
Just when you think that at least
And that is why I do not like the

I sit in the dusk. I am all alone
Enter a child and an ice-cream con
A parent is easily beguiled
By sight of this coniferous child.
The friendly embers warmer gleam,

There is a knocking in the skull,
An endless silent shout
Of something beating on a wall,
And crying, “Let me out!”
That solitary prisoner

May I join you in the doghouse, R
I wish to retire till the party’s
Since three o’clock I’ve done my
To entertain each tiny guest. My
And if they want me, let them find

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond

The wasp and all his numerous fami
I look upon as a major calamity.
He throws open his nest with prodi
But I distrust his waspitality.