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Category: Funny Juniors Poems
       Classic humorous and funny poems for children, about kids, and for kids of all shapes and sizes.


The chill November day was done,
    The working world home faring;
The wind came roaring through the streets
    And set the gas-lights flaring;
And hopelessly and aimlessly
    The scared old leaves were flying;
When, mingled with the sighing wind,
    I heard a small voice crying.

And shivering on the corner stood
    A child of four, or over;
No cloak or hat her small, soft arms,
    And wind blown curls to cover.
Her dimpled face was stained with tears;
    Her round blue eyes ran over;
She cherished in her wee, cold hand,
    A bunch of faded clover.

And one hand round her treasure while
    She slipped in mine the other:
Half scared, half confidential, said,
    "Oh! please, I want my mother!"
"Tell me your street and number, pet:
    Don't cry, I'll take you to it."
Sobbing she answered, "I forget:
    The organ made me do it.

"He came and played at Milly's steps,
    The monkey took the money;
And so I followed down the street,
    The monkey was so funny.
I've walked about a hundred hours,
    From one street to another:
The monkey's gone, I've spoiled my flowers,
    Oh! please, I want my mother."

"But what's your mother's name? and what
    The street? Now think a minute."
"My mother's name is mamma dear--
    The street--I can't begin it."
"But what is strange about the house,
    Or new--not like the others?"
"I guess you mean my trundle-bed,
    Mine and my little brother's.

"Oh dear! I ought to be at home
    To help him say his prayers,--
He's such a baby he forgets;
    And we are both such players;--
And there's a bar to keep us both
    From pitching on each other,
For Harry rolls when he's asleep:
    Oh dear! I want my mother."

The sky grew stormy; people passed
    All muffled, homeward faring:
"You'll have to spend the night with me,"
    I said at last, despairing,
I tied a kerchief round her neck--
    "What ribbon's this, my blossom?"
"Why don't you know!" she smiling, said,
    And drew it from her bosom.

A card with number, street, and name;
    My eyes astonished met it;
"For," said the little one, "you see
    I might sometimes forget it:
And so I wear a little thing
    That tells you all about it;
For mother says she's very sure
    I should get lost without it."

                    Eliza Sproat Turner.

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