Comfort
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,
The pain was quickly gone.
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.
by Caroline M. Griswold.
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