HIS WONDERFUL CHOO-CHOOS

When I see his wonderful choo-choo trains,

Which he daily builds with infinite pains,

Whose cars are a crazy and curious lot —

A doll, a picture, a pepper pot,

A hat, a pillow, a horse, a book,

A pote, a mintie, a button hook,

A bag of tobacco, a piece of string,

A pair of wubbas, a bodkin ring,

A deck of twos and a paper box,

A brush, a comb and a lot of blocks —

When I first gaze on his wonderful trains,

Which he daily builds with infinite pains,

I laugh, and I think to myself, “O gee!

Was ever a child as cute as he?”

But when he's gone to his cozy nest,

From the toil of his strenuous day to rest,

And when I gaze on his trains once more,

Where they lie, abandoned, across the floor,

And when the terrible task I face

Of putting each “Pullman” back in its place,

I groan a little, and think, “O gee!

Was ever a child as mean as he?”