Ma says no, it's too much care
An' it will scatter germs an' hair,
An' it's a nuisance through and through.
An' barks when you don't want it to;
You don't begrudge the labor when the roses start to bloom;
You don't recall the dreary days that won you their perfume;
You don't recall a single care
I never knew the joy of getting home,
I never knew how fast a heart could beat;
I never tasted joy,
I LIKE the homes where a Teddy Bear
Monopolizes the best arm chair,
Where the sofa a rag doll occupies
And a train of cars in the corner lies;
For those are the signs that the home is glad
With a little girl or a little lad.
There ain't the joy in foreign skies that those of home possess,
An' friendliness o' foreign folks ain't hometown friendliness;
An' far-off landscapes with their thrills don't grip me quite as hard
As jes' that little patch o' green that's in my own backyard.
When I was but a little lad of six and seven and eight,
One joy I knew that has been lost in customs up-to-date,
Then Saturday was baking day and Mother used to make,
The while I stood about and watched, the Sunday pies and cake;
And I was there to have fulfilled a small boy's fondest wish,
The glorious privilege of youth- to scrape the frosting dish!
I DO not ask for roses all the time,
For blue skies bending o'er me every day,
I do not ask for easy hills to climb,
Oh, mother, be you brave of heart and keep
your bright eyes shining;
Some day the smiles of joy shall start and you
shall cease repining.