There is sorrow in the household; <br />There's a grief too hard to bear; <br />There's a little cheek that's tear-stained <br />There's a sobbing baby there. <br />And try how we will to comfort, <br />Still the tiny teardrops come; <br />For, to solve a vexing problem, <br />Curly Locks has wrecked his drum. <br />It had puzzled him and worried, <br />How the drum created sound; <br />For he couldn't understand it <br />It was not enough to pound <br />With his tiny hands and drumsticks, <br />And at last the day has come, <br />When another hope is shattered; <br />Now in ruins lies his drum. <br />With his metal bank he broke it, <br />Tore the tightened skin aside, <br />Gazed on vacant space bewildered, <br />Then he broke right down and cried. <br />For the broken bubble shocked him <br />And the baby tears must come; <br />Now a joy has gone forever: <br />Curly Locks has wrecked his drum. <br />While his mother tries to soothe him, <br />I am sitting here alone; <br />In the life that lies behind me; <br />Many shocks like that I've known. <br />And the boy who's upstairs weeping, <br />In the years that are to come <br />Will learn that many pleasures <br />Are as empty as his drum.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-broken-drum-2/
