Читать книгу Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two - Various - Страница 47

We all look on with anxious eyes

When Father carves the duck,

And Mother almost always sighs

When Father carves the duck;

Then all of us prepare to rise

And hold our bibs before our eyes,

And be prepared for some surprise

When Father carves the duck.

He braces up and grabs the fork,

Whene'er he carves the duck,

And won't allow a soul to talk

Until he carves the duck.

The fork is jabbed into the sides,

Across the breast the knife he slides,

While every careful person hides

From flying chips of duck.

The platter's always sure to slip

When Father carves the duck,

And how it makes the dishes skip—

Potatoes fly amuck.

The squash and cabbage leap in space,

We get some gravy in our face,

And Father mutters Hindoo grace

Whene'er he carves a duck.

We then have learned to walk around

The dining room and pluck

From off the window-sills and walls

Our share of Father's duck.

While Father growls and blows and jaws,

And swears the knife was full of flaws,

And Mother laughs at him because

He couldn't carve a duck.