Once there was a boy who never
Tore his clothes, or hardly ever,
Never made his sister mad,
Never whipped fer bein’ bad,
Never scolded by his Ma,
Never frowned at by his Pa,
Always fit fer folks to see,
Always good as good could be.

This good little boy from Heaven,
So I’m told, was only seven,
Yet he never shed real tears
When his mother scrubbed his ears,
An’ at times when he was dressed
Fer a party, in his best,
He was careful of his shirt
Not to get it smeared with dirt.

Used to study late at night,
Learnin’ how to read an’ write;
When he played a baseball game,
Right away he always came
When his mother called him in. 
An’ he never made a din
But was quiet as a mouse
When they’d comp’ny in the house.

Liked to wash his hands an’ face,
Liked to work around the place;
Never, when he’d tired of play,
Left his wagon in the way,
Or his bat an’ ball around—­
Put ’em where they could be found;
An’ that good boy married Ma,
An’ to-day he is my Pa.

Green Apple Time

Green apple time! an’, Oh, the joy
Once more to be a healthy boy,
Casting a longin’ greedy eye
At every tree he passes by! 
Riskin’ the direst consequence
To sneak inside a neighbor’s fence
An’ shake from many a loaded limb
The fruit that seems so near to him
Gosh! but once more I’d like to be
The boy I was in eighty-three.

Here I am sittin’ with my pipe,
Waitin’ for apples to get ripe;
Waitin’ until the friendly sun
Has bronzed ’em all an’ says they’re done;
Not darin’ any more to climb
An’ pick a few afore their time. 
No legs to run, no teeth to chew
The way that healthy youngsters do;
Jus’ old enough to sit an’ wait
An’ pick my apple from a plate.

Plate apples ain’t to be compared
With those you’ve ventured for an’ dared. 
It’s winnin’ ’em from branches high,
Or nippin’ ’em when no one’s by,
Or findin’ ’em the time you feel
You really need another meal,
Or comin’ unexpectedly
Upon a farmer’s loaded tree
An’ grabbin’ all that you can eat,
That goes to make an apple sweet.

Green apple time!  Go to it, boy,
An’ cram yourself right full o’ joy;
Watch for the farmer’s dog an’ run;
There’ll come a time it can’t be done. 
There’ll come a day you can’t digest
The fruit you’ve stuffed into your vest,
Nor climb, but you’ll sit down like me
An’ watch ’em ripening on the tree,
An’ jus’ like me you’ll have to wait
To pick your apples from a plate.

She Mothered Five

She mothered five! 
Night after night she watched a little bed,
Night after night she cooled a fevered head,
Day after day she guarded little feet,
Taught little minds the dangers of the street,
Taught little lips to utter simple prayers,
Whispered of strength that some day would be theirs,
And trained them all to use it as they should. 
She gave her babies to the nation’s good.