<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=541922" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Boy's Trials</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I was but a little lad<br>One thing I could not bear,<br>It was to stand at mother's knee<br>And have her comb my hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They didn't keep boys' hair as short<br>As it's kept now-a-days,<br>And mine was always tangled up<br>In twenty different ways.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd twist my mouth and grit my teeth,<br>And say it wasn't fair-<br>It was a trial, and no mistake,<br>When mother combed my hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She'd brush and brush each stubborn curl<br>That grew upon my pate,<br>And with her scissors nip and clip<br>To make the edges straight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then smooth it down until it shone,<br>While I would grin and bear,<br>And feel a martyr through and through,<br>When mother combed my hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She'd take my round chin in her hand<br>And hold it there the while<br>She made the parting carefully,<br>Then tell me with a smile:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Don't push your cap down on your curls<br>And spoil my work and care;<br>He is a pretty little lad<br>When mother combs his hair.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd hurry out and rumple up<br>That mop of hair so thick-<br>A vandal, I, for she had worked<br>So hard to make it slick-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And wish I were a grown-up man<br>So nobody would dare<br>To put a washrag in my ears,<br>Or comb my tangled hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heigho! now that I'm bald and gray,<br>Methinks I would be glad<br>To have her smooth my brow and cheeks,<br>And whisper, 'Mother's lad!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A longing for the care-free days<br>Doth take me unaware;<br>To stand, a boy, at mother's knee<br>And have her comb my hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jean+Blewett">Jean Blewett</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=541922" data-title="A Boy's Trials de Jean Blewett" data-description="When I was but a little lad One thing I could not bear, It was to stand at mother's knee And have her comb my hair. They didn't keep boys' hair as short As it's kept now-a-days, And mine was always tangled up In twenty different ways. I'd twist ..."></div> </div> </div>

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