YOU don't weigh more than thirty pounds, <br />Your legs are little, plump and fat, <br />And yet you patter on your rounds <br />The whole day long within our flat. <br />Yes, ceaselessly, you come and go, <br />In search of things you want to see, <br />You're only two years old, but oh <br />You walk the strength right out of me. <br /> <br />A dozen times a day or more <br />You gayly lead me up the stairs, <br />Then back to try the kitchen door, <br />Then round about the parlor chairs. <br />You come and take me by the hand <br />And splendidly you march away <br />Until by night I scarce can stand, <br />While you are fresh and keen for play. <br /> <br />You know not what it is to tire, <br />You never seem to care for rest; <br />You seem to have but one desire <br />And that's to go, 'till you're undressed. <br />And this tonight I'll say to you <br />As you are tugging at my knee, <br />That it is all that I can do <br />To keep the pace you set for me. <br /> <br />Oh, little chap, with tireless step, <br />Oh, little laughing chap of two, <br />I somehow wish I had your 'pep' <br />And could keep up as well as you! <br />I wish I had what you possess, <br />The strength to romp and play and run, <br />Yet every Sunday, I confess, <br />I'm tuckered out when night comes on.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tuckered-out-3/
