Who did not food me from her breast, But thought the “ patent bottle ” best ; And often called mo “ little pest”?— My Mother. When sleep forsook my open eye, And rocking only made me cry, Who, then, would Steedman’s powder try ? My Mother. Who never watched my cradle-bed, Excepting peevishly, in dread Lest I should wake and lift my head ? My Mother*. Who went to theatre or hall, And didn’t mind my grief at all, But lot mo cry, or squeal, or squall 1 — My Mother. Who ran to lift me when I fell, Then shook and scolded me right well, And skelp’d me,—where, I needn’t tell ? My Mother. Who whipped me always, as a rule, And said, “ You dirty little fool,” And sent me blubbering off to school 1 — My Mother. Who scolded when I soiled my bib, But laughed when I would tell a fib, And ditto when I lied quite glib ? My Mother. Who never taught my lips to pray, Or moral precepts to obey, Which was her “ wisdom’s pleasant way ?" My Mother. Who was a tigress or a lamb, Who raged at me, then gave me jam ; In short, who made me what I am ? My Mother. And can I ever, ever, be Forgetful through my life of thee. Who wast a terror unto me ? My Mother. Ah ! no ; for faithful memory shows My childhood’s miseries and woes : How I escaped, heaven only knows— My Mother. Rakaia J. C.
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MY MOTHER., Ashburton Guardian, Volume I, 16 October 1879
MY MOTHER. Ashburton Guardian, Volume I, 16 October 1879
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