The New Baby
My very own little sister,
Isn’t she bright,
For such a mite?
She is so wee,
I wonder if she
Would cry, and scream, if I kissed her.
Say, will she break if I hold her?
How queer that some day
She’ll learn how to say,
Twice two are four—
And many things more—
And go to school when she’s older.
Fancy those tiny feet running.
Isn’t it queer
To think she is here?
To think she will grow?
I’d just like to know
What does make babies so cunning.