Four Little Boys

Four little boys to clean, feed, and dress,
Four little boys all making a mess.

Four little boys, oh what mischief they made,
“Go play in the backyard, my nerves are all frayed.”

Four little boys, grown up, gone away,
Their wrestling and laughter still linger each day.

The memories so precious oft’ times make you sad,
And then you remember the ruckus you had.

Now each little boy is no longer a lad,
Sometimes how they please you, sometimes make you mad.

So when you’re unhappy and they can’t hear you shout,
Send one to the corner, and just let him pout.

Ritchie Hale, December 1999

***This poem was written for Grandma Hale, who claims she was often in tears before breakfast! 

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