He is stopped at the place where he hoped to begin,
By his wife, who has taken a kick at his shin.
If he picks the wrong fork for the salad, he knows
That fact by the feel of his wife's slippered toes.
If he's started a bit of untellable news,
On the calf of his leg there is planted a bruise.
Oh, I wonder sometimes what would happen to me
If the wife were not seated just where she could be
On guard every minute to watch every trick,
And keep me in line all the time with her kick.
Leader of the Gang
Seems only just a year ago that he was toddling round the place
In pretty little colored suits and with a pink and shining face.
I used to hold him in my arms to watch when our canary sang,
And now tonight he tells me that he's leader of his gang.
It seems but yesterday, I vow, that I with fear was almost dumb,
Living those dreadful hours of care waiting the time for him to come;
And I can still recall the thrill of that first cry of his which rang
Within our walls. And now that babe tells me he's leader of his gang.
Gone from our lives are all the joys which yesterday we used to own;
The baby that we thought we had, out of the little home has flown,
And in his place another stands, whose garments in disorder hang,
A lad who now with pride proclaims that he's the leader of his gang.
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