The Jumble Book of Rhymes Part 9

Show Me

There is a dame I know you know, Who'll make big talk, will brag and blow About the waffles that she makes, Also her corn and buckwheat cakes-- But always my cake's dough.

She tells of this or that one who At breakfast, once ate twenty-two!

And when she feared that he would bust He raved and railed and almost cussed, And said he wa'n't half through.

I've hinted and I've begged this dame To just for once treat me the same.

But always she the question begs, Or's out of cream, or maybe eggs, Or some excuse as lame.

Yet here am I, so thin and pale, While she, dear soul, is plump and hale.

If she's the best cook in the South, Why let me stand with watering mouth?-- She should be sent to jail!

Now, I'm from out Missouri way, Where "Please show me," is what they say.

I'm hungry and too weak to walk, So "Please feed me, or stop your talk!"

I'll tell her this today.

A pawfull and a mawfull I Must have or else I fear I'll die.

Her talk does naught but aggravate; It does not help my famished state Nor hunger satisfy.

Unless I get a waffle quick, Unless I get it awful quick, I'd better beat her up, I guess, And mar her beauty more or less-- Unless I get it quick!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Damfino Jones

Damfino Jones, a mental drone, Had no opinion of his own; He grew to manhood meek and mild, But he was Indecision's child, It was the same in weal or woe: He "wasn't sure," or "didn't know."

In business he would hesitate To buy or sell until too late; So, naturally he ran in debt-- But hasn't run back out as yet.

When asked when he a debt would pay He "couldn't just exactly say."

In romance he just "couldn't just exactly say."

If he loved Blanche or Isabel-- He married Jane, and, safe to say, 'Twas she who kept the wolf at bay.

And with religion, mixed he got When asked if orthodox or not.

In politics he'd weigh and weigh, And then not vote on 'lection day.

And so he wavered till he died And never did one thing decide.

Now I don't know, but it is said He isn't now quite sure he's dead.

Take note of men who've made success: They tell you "No" or tell you "Yes"

Right off the bat, nor step aside When faced with questions to decide; While men like Jones just paw the air And never do get anywhere.

This truth s.h.i.+nes out like bright new tin: _Think for yourself if you would win_.

Silent Bill

I have a friend called "Silent Bill,"

Aged ten, so says the Bible; To me, in years, no word he's said-- Strange truth and not base libel.

He seems quite bright, and sees and hears-- In fact you'd think him normal; But not a sound comes from his lips, Not e'en to greeting formal.

When he's at home, so I am told, It's talk, talk, talk, and chatter; When I'm around, why is he dumb?

Explain, what is the matter?

Am I an ogre fierce and wild With looks and mien ferocious That cause to cling unto its roof The tongue of this precocious?

"Oh, no!" says he, "you're not to blame."

(The answer comes by proxy.) "The fault's not yours, but all guilt lies With my dear mother, foxy.

I'd like to talk of lots of things-- But ain't my ma the limit?

She starts her tongue--so what's the use?

I'm out, 'less I b.u.t.t-in it."

"It's 'seen not heard,' so I've been told, Or else a strapping vi'lent.

I fear the gad, and that's why I Remain still Bill-the-silent.

Now, when you sc.r.a.p about her size I'm mum, but try to figger How she could squeeze in through the door If she were any bigger."

"But when she twits you 'bout the thatch You've lost from off your attic, I'd like to reprimand her then In language quite emphatic.

I've waited long and ground my teeth, And frowned upon her patter; But I'm convinced she'll ne'er run down-- She's stuffed with ceaseless chatter."

Dear Silent Bill, stay silent still; To change, pray do not bother; You're dearer far just as you are; I'd true not have you other.

Buster Boy

_The Jumbler, like Foss, loses a boy._

I have a friend called "Buster"-- A little child last Fall-- But now he's grown so very big I scarce know him at all.

Almost a man! His folks are proud And fairly beam with joy; But I--I feel I'd rather cry; For I--I've lost my _boy_.

No more he'll perch upon my knee And ask me to relate How Li Chi Fair and Chang-the-Good Were saved from saddest fate.

And Jelly Jar and Big Black Bear He'll treat with sneering scorn And say, "Now please do stop and think How long since I was born."

Time flies so fast it takes my breath!

Soon he'll forget it all-- The rhymes we wrote, the games we played, None, none will he recall.

The world may praise him as a MAN-- G.o.d knows I wish him joy-- But I--I'll brush away a tear And long for Buster _Boy_.

Not Forgetting Dad