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Title: My Henry
Author: James Whitcomb Riley [
More Titles by Riley]
He's jes' a great, big, awk'ard, hulkin'
Feller,--humped, and sort o' sulkin'--
Like, and ruther still-appearin'--
Kind-as-ef he wuzn't keerin'
Whether school helt out er not--
That's my Henry, to a dot!
Allus kind o' liked him--whether
Childern, er growed-up together!
Fifteen year' ago and better,
'Fore he ever knowed a letter,
Run acrosst the little fool
In my Primer-class at school.
When the Teacher wuzn't lookin',
He'd be th'owin' wads; er crookin'
Pins; er sprinklin' pepper, more'n
Likely, on the stove; er borin'
Gimlet-holes up thue his desk--
Nothin' _that_ boy wouldn't resk!
But, somehow, as I was goin'
On to say, he seemed so knowin',
_Other_ ways, and cute and cunnin'--
Allus wuz a notion runnin'
Thue my giddy, fool-head he
Jes' had be'n cut out fer me!
Don't go much on _prophesyin'_,
But last night whilse I wuz fryin'
Supper, with that man a-pitchin'
Little Marthy round the kitchen,
Think-says-I, "Them baby's eyes
Is my Henry's, jes' p'cise!"
[The end]
James Whitcomb Riley's poem: My Henry
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