She couldn't let him light the oil-stove now.
He would forget to put the chimney on
The flame, and they'd burn up. She'd laugh, oh well!
He's gettin queer's
He's gittin on, she said, in years!
And he would slip across and tell me she pulled
Out of the patch and sewed them in again
And didn't seem to know she'd put the same
Patch on the day before. As she's a-gittin old
She gits fergetful
But thank God she ain't fretful.
Then I was glad my father had remained
Cantankerous . . . would have his pipe in bed,
Made me obey him like a three-year-old . . .
But kept his autocratic clear old head . . .
Was needle-witted to the last
And never wandered in the past.
__Margaret E. Haughawout.
Margaret E. Haughawout
(Pittsburg, Kansas: __. 1929)