Ring Lardner

“ Your poor old dad is simply wild
To own. It's not a book or toy;
It's your imagination, boy.
If I possessed it, what a time
I'd have, nor need to spend a dime!
I wish that I could get astride
A broom, and have a horse to ride;
Or climb into the swing, and be
A sailor on the deep blue sea,
Or b'lieve a chair a choo-choo train,
Bound anywhere and back again.
If I could ride as fast and far
On ship or horse, in train or car,
As you, at small expense or none,
If I could have one-half your fun
And do the things that you do, free,
I'd give them back my salary. ”

“ With volumes of pictures—they're pretty ones, too—
Of birds, beasts, and fishes, and old Mother Goose
Repines in a corner and feels like the deuce,
While you, on the floor, quite contentedly look
At page after page of the telephone book.
RIDDLES
If it's fun to take books from the bookcase,
If you really believe it's worth while
To carry them out to the kitchen
And build them all up in a pile,
Why isn't it just as agreeable then
To carry them back to the bookcase again?
If it's fun to make marks with a pencil
In books that one cares for a heap ”

“ When "By-by, Choo-choo" makes it plain?
"Let words be few," the poet saith,
So leave out words and save your breath.
WELCOME TO SPRING
Spring, you are welcome, for you are the friend of
Fathers of all little girlies and chaps.
Spring, you are welcome, for you mean the end of
Bundling them up in their cold-weather wraps.
Breathes there a parent of masculine gender,
One whose young hopeful is seven or less,
Who never has cursed the designer and vender
Of juvenile-out-of-doors-winter-time dress?
Leggings and overcoat, rubbers that squeeze on,
Mittens and sweater a trifle too small ”