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Title: Our Baby
Author: Eugene Field [
More Titles by Field]
'Tis very strange, but quite as true,
That when our Baby smiles
Our club gets walloped black and blue
In all the latest styles;
But when our Baby's hopping mad
It's quite the other way--
Chicago beats the Yankees bad
When Baby doesn't play.
When baby stands upon his base,
Just after having kicked,
Upon his Scandinavian face
Appears the legend, "Licked";
But when he orders out a sub,
We well may hip-hooray--
Chicago has the winning club
When Baby doesn't play.
But, if our Baby's getting old,
And stiff, and cross, and vain,
And if his days are nearly told,
Oh, let us not complain.
Let's rather think of what he was
And how he's made it pay
To hire the kids that win because
Our Baby doesn't play.
[The end]
Eugene Field's poem: Our Baby
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