Edgar Albert Guest

(20 August 1881 - 5 August 1959 / Birmingham / England)

When Pa Counts


Pa's not so very big or brave; he can't lift weights like Uncle Jim;
His hands are soft like little girls'; most anyone could wallop him.
Ma weighs a whole lot more than Pa. When they go swimming, she could stay
Out in the river all day long, but Pa gets frozen right away.
But when the thunder starts to roll, an' lightnin' spits, Ma says, ' Oh, dear,
I'm sure we'll all of us be killed. I only wish your Pa was here.'

Pa's cheeks are thin an' kinder pale; he couldn't rough it worth a cent.
He couldn't stand the hike we had the day the Boy Scouts camping went.
He has to hire a man to dig the garden, coz his back gets lame,
An' he'd be crippled for a week, if he should play a baseball game.
But when a thunder storm comes up, Ma sits an' shivers in the gloam
An' every time the thunder rolls, she says: ' I wish your Pa was home.'

I don't know just what Pa could do if he were home, he seems so frail,
But every time the skies grow black I notice Ma gets rather pale.
An' when she's called us children in, an' locked the windows an' the doors,
She jumps at every lightnin' flash an' trembles when the thunder roars.
An' when the baby starts to cry, she wrings her hands an' says: 'Oh, dear!
It's terrible! It's terrible! I only wish your Pa was here.'

Submitted: Monday, July 14, 2014

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