Thursday, August 19, 2004

boys beware....

OGDEN NASH (1902-1971)
Song to be sung by the Father of Infant Female Children

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
Contrariwise, my blood runs cold
When little boys go by.
For little boys as little boys,
No special hate I carry,
But now and then they grow to men,
And when they do, they marry.
No matter how they tarry,
Eventually they marry.
And, swine among the pearls,
They marry little girls.

Oh, somewhere, somewhere, an infant plays,
With parents who feed and clothe him.
Their lips are sticky with pride and praise,
But I have begun to loathe him.
Yes, I loathe with a loathing shameless
This child who to me is nameless.
This bachelor child in his carriage,
Gives never a thoughts to marriage,
But a person can hardly say knife
Before he will hunt him a wife.

I never see and infant (male),
A-sleeping in the sun,
Without I turn a trifle pale
And think, is he the one?
Oh. first he’ll want to crop his curls,
And then he’ll want a pony,
And then he’ll think of pretty girls
And holy matrimony.
He’ll put away his pony
And sigh for matrimony.
A cat without a mouse
Is he without a spouse.

Oh, somewhere he bubbles bubbles of milk,
And quietly sucks his thumbs;
His cheeks are roses painted on silk,
And his teeth are tucked in his gums.
But alas, the teeth will begin to grow,
And the bubbles will cease to bubble;
Given a score of years or so,
The roses will turn to stubble.
He’ll send a bond, or he’ll write a book,
And his eyes will get that inquisitive look,
And raging and ravenous for the kill,
He’ll boldly ask for the hand of Jill.
This infant whose middle
Is diapered still
Will want to marry my daughter Jill.

Oh sweet be his slumber and moist his middle!
My dreams, I fear, are infanticiddle.
A fig for embryo Lohengrins!
I’ll open all of his safety pins,
I’ll pepper his powder and salt his bottle,
And give him readings from Aristotle,
Sand for his spinach, I’ll gladly bring,
And Tabasco sauce for his teething ring,
And an elegant, elegant alligator
To play with in his perambulator.
Then perhaps he’ll struggle through fore and water
To marry someone else’s daughter!



...and quietly sucks his thumbs...

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