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Poem by Benjamin Franklin King Baby Up at Battenberg's Heerd 'bout what's happened? Why o' course ye has; Baby up at Battenberg's Hope it tain't the las'! Doctor come at eight o'clock, Rig all spleshed with clay; Dad a trampin' up the hall, Skeery?--I sh'd say! Kind o' still 'roun' the house, Folk on tiptoe walk Tell the door is open An' we hear a squawk! Doctor whispers suthin'-- Daddy hollers: "No!" Doctor says, "Twelve pounder!" Daddy whoops out: "Sho!" Daddy--happier'n a clam! Mother doin' well; Baby up at Battenberg's, Haven't ye heerd tell? Benjamin Franklin King Benjamin Franklin King's other poems: 1580 Views |
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