Читать книгу The Path to Home - Edgar A. Guest - Страница 14

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I don't see why Pa likes him so,

And seems so glad to have him come;

He jabs my ribs and wants to know

If here and there it's hurting some.

He holds my wrist, coz there are things

In there, which always jump and jerk,

Then, with a telephone he brings,

He listens to my breather work.

He taps my back and pinches me,

Then hangs a mirror on his head

And looks into my throat to see

What makes it hurt and if it's red.

Then on his knee he starts to write

And says to mother, with a smile:

"This ought to fix him up all right,

We'll cure him in a little while."

I don't see why Pa likes him so.

Whenever I don't want to play

He says: "The boy is sick, I know!

Let's get the doctor right away."

And when he comes, he shakes his hand,

And hustles him upstairs to me,

And seems contented just to stand

Inside the room where he can see.

Then Pa says every time he goes:

"That's money I am glad to pay;

It's worth it, when a fellow knows

His pal will soon be up to play."

But maybe if my Pa were me,

And had to take his pills and all,

He wouldn't be so glad to see

The doctor come to make a call.