Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Shall I Be Like Grandma?

this was a poem that has remained lost to me for the last 25 years or so. my great grandmother used to recite this poem to me when i was a little girl and over the years i have tried to recall it to the best of my ability but today i managed to find the missing verses ...(truelly i was surprised at how much i really did remember correctly..) but here it is in its entirety. its funny how when i read it i really can hear her in my ears as i read it .

Shall I be like Grandma when I am old ?

Shall I wear such a queer little bonnet ? —
No feathers, no posies, but just a plain fold

With a little white edging upon it ?
Shall I sit in an easy chair all the day long

With a great ball of wool and a stocking ?
Shall I think it quite dreadful for folks to do wrong,

And dirt and disorder so shocking ?

Shall I wear a white cap full of dear little bows.

And a row of white curls on my forehead ?
Shall I keep my face clean and take care of my clothes.

And never be snappish and horrid ?
Shall I think that the Bible's the nicest of books.

And remember the sermon on Sunday,
And not think how stupid the minister looks.

And wish it would only be Monday ?

Just wait till I tell you what Grandma once said —

I hop^ that you won't think me crazy,
It happened one day when they sent me to bed

For being ill-tempered and lazy.
She came and sat by me and patted my hand.

And told me, " There's no use in crying ;
*' It's by stumbling, my pet, that we learn to stand,

•• And we always grow better by trying."

«• Was anyone ever so wicked as me ? '*

I asked her between my sobbing, —
Then Grandma laughed just as hard as could be

And the white curls went merrily bobbing.
•• Was any one ever so naughty as you ?

" I'm sure that I know of one other."
•• Who was it ? " I asked. •• Oh, please tell me, do ! "*

She whispered, "Your own Grandmother."

Now isn't it strange ? But of course it is true ;

I can tell you just one thing about it —
She'd not tell a story, whatever she'd do,

And we'd only be silly to doubt it.
But of course I feel certain you never will tell.

For how perfectly dreadful 'twould be
To have people know, who all love her so well.

That Grandma was ever like me.*

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