From The Topeka State Journal, August 28, 1914. By Roy K. Moulton.
(A poem for every father.)
I’ve heard a lot of babies squall,
I’ve heard ‘em east and west,
But after hearin’ of ‘em all,
I like my kid’s yell best.
It doesn’t worry me a bit,
For every time I hear
Him tune up to his heart’s content,
It’s music to my ear.
Your own kid’s voice is always sweet,
No matter what the key;
In all the world no one can sing
So charmingly as he.
You think it’s cute when your own child
Cuts loose with might and main;
It always is the neighbor’s kid
That drives you half insane.