I’m rocking my baby, and babies don’t keep

Remember that sweet nursery rhyme?

Remember that sweet little puppy dog Roy Rogers, when we were first introduced in February?

He’s grown up a little bit since then:

Playing with Bob Dog.

Running full tilt at Honeydew … kind of looks like he might bruise you if he ran over you, he’s gotten so big!

Look at how long his legs are! Ah, puppyhood is fleeting.

Here’s the full poem, in case it hasn’t popped up on your Google Reader recently :

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton