I sure do like that kid, although I know
He's rotten spoiled, and ought to be suppressed.
He's boiling over with boy-nonsense! So
The neighbors have no chance to get a rest.
Not bad, you understand; just “some unlucky”
In getting caught at things, once in a while;
Yet when he does, he never runs — he's plucky!
But plays that smile of his, that flashing smile.
Sometimes when he has done a foolish thing —
Like “hoeing weeds” with our best garden hose,
Or in the rose bed “built a min'rul spring,”
He's bound to make me peevish, goodness knows!
Yet when he tries to “‘ splain it all” to me,
I do n't succumb a moment to his guile;
I'm stern, as stern, indeed, as I can be —
Until he smiles that mother-given smile!
Perhaps he does n't understand how strong
A weapon he possesses — Gracious me!
Disarmed by it, I can not right the wrong
By scolding him, however forcefully.
I do believe, if Fate itself were bent
On breaking him,‘ twould hesitate a while
And feel ashamed!... He wins without intent
Because — God bless him!— he knows when to smile.