William B. Watterson
“My son, you’re only twelve years old, ” she said,
“And if I let you journey into town,
Someone might cut your throat or strike you down.”
But still the boy continually pled,
Refuting points and laughing at her dread.
Though all the while she never ceased to frown,
He thought by wiles to wear her defense down.
He did, she lost, he won, and “Go, ” she said.