WHEN PA COUNTS

Pa's cheeks are thin an’ kinder pale; he could n't rough it worth a cent.

He could n't stand the hike we had the day the Boy Scouts camping went.

He has to hire a man to dig the garden, coz his back gets lame,

An’ he'd be crippled for a week, if he should play a baseball game.

But when a thunder storm comes up, Ma sits an’ shivers in the gloam

An’ every time the thunder rolls, she says: “I wish your Pa was home.”

I do n't know just what Pa could do if he were home, he seems so frail,

But every time the skies grow black I notice Ma gets rather pale.

An’ when she's called us children in, an’ locked the windows an’ the doors,

She jumps at every lightnin’ flash an’ trembles when the thunder roars.

An’ when the baby starts to cry, she wrings her hands an’ says: “Oh, dear,

It's terrible! It's terrible! I only wish your

Pa was here.”