Somebody’s boy is riding his steed,
Out on the highway at breakneck speed.
Popping away with his little gun,
Say! neighbor, is that your son?

Somebody’s girl is walking the streets,
Smiling at every tough she meets;
Loosing her head in the mid-night whirl,
Dear fond mother, is that your girl?

Lest the time will come
when your blood will seethe,
When that dog comes home
with wool in his teeth,
Or the boy ends up with a broken neck.
Or the girl, poor thing, is a hopeless wreck.

If that’s your dog, the ornery pup,
Build a dog house or chain him up.
If that’s your boy, ’tis the proper thing,
Tie him down with an apron string.
And if that’s your girl, let little be said,
Spank her hard and put her to bed.

Rev. Wm. J. Hopper, Browns, Illinois. circa 1900

He was a circuit-rider

Post from: But First, We Have Coffee

A Poem By My Great Grandfather