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Show IN OUR POETS BACK YARD ! IWEET DISORDER. By Anna CampbeN, He's set up his train m the corner; His books are sway on the shelf. His ball's en the floor. Though Tve told him before. He mutt pick up hla toys by himself, him-self, . - ; And there on the chair, little sister Has lft hen best baby to aleep. i Though she took off to bed ! A dolly whose head Has a gash that la painful and deep. t And close by the table the baby ' Has thrown Tinker Toy in despair, de-spair, ' Before he was borne. Tear-wet and forlorn. To hla bed at -the top of the stair. And I know, aa I pick up their play-t play-t hinge. That sometimes disorder la sweet. And my eyee fill with teare At I think of the years When the house will be lonely and neat. (Copyright, North American News paper AUtanos, IKS ) |