Real Singing

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Title:     Real Singing
Author: Edgar A. Guest [More Titles by Guest]

 
  You can talk about your music, and your
    operatic airs,
  And your phonographic record that Caruso's
    tenor bears;
  But there isn't any music that such wondrous
    joy can bring
  Like the concert when the kiddies and their
    mother start to sing.
  When the supper time is over, then the mother
    starts to play
  Some simple little ditty, and our concert's under
    way.
  And I'm happier and richer than a millionaire
    or king
  When I listen to the kiddies and their mother
    as they sing.
  There's a sweetness most appealing in the trilling
    of their notes:
  It is innocence that's pouring from their little
    baby throats;
  And I gaze at them enraptured, for my joy's
    a real thing
  Every evening when the kiddies and their mother
    start to sing.

[The end]
Edgar A. Guest's poem: Real Singing

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