articlesforchristians

My dolls are sick and tired sometimes,

And I can’t stand their noise;

I put them quickly into bed,

And hide away their toys;

I shut the door and leave them

In the playroom all alone,

And scamper quickly down the stairs,

For fear I’ll hear them moan.

Last night I had the toothache hard;

My mother was so kind;

She held me closely in her arms,

And said to never mind.

She gently kissed the achy spot,

And soothed me with a song;

And, if you will believe my word,

I like to have my mother care

When I am sick and blue;

I shouldn’t wonder if my dolls

Would like me gentle, too.

I think next time that one is sick,

I’ll sit and smooth her hair,

I’ll hold her hand and pat her cheek,

And let her know I care.