Poem: “When Pa Counts” by Edgar A. Guest

A Heap o’ Livin’

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American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’
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When Pa Counts

  Pa’s not so very big or brave; he can’t lift
     weights like Uncle Jim;
  His hands are soft like little girls’; most anyone
     could wallop him.
  Ma weighs a whole lot more than Pa. When
     they go swimming, she could stay
  Out in the river all day long, but Pa gets frozen
     right away.
  But when the thunder starts to roll, an’ lightnin’
     spits, Ma says, “Oh, dear,
  I’m sure we’ll all of us be killed. I only wish
     your Pa was here.”

  Pa’s cheeks are thin an’ kinder pale; he couldn’t
     rough it worth a cent.
  He couldn’t stand the hike we had the day the
     Boy Scouts camping went.
  He has to hire a man to dig the garden, coz his
     back gets lame,
  An’ he’d be crippled for a week, if he should
     play a baseball game.
  But when a thunder storm comes up, Ma sits an’
     shivers in the gloam
  An’ every time the thunder rolls, she says: “I
     wish your Pa was home.”

  I don’t know just what Pa could do if he were
     home, he seems so frail,
  But every time the skies grow black I notice Ma
     gets rather pale.
  An’ when she’s called us children in, an’ locked
     the windows an’ the doors,
  She jumps at every lightnin’ flash an’ trembles
     when the thunder roars.
  An’ when the baby starts to cry, she wrings her
     hands an’ says: “Oh, dear,
  It’s terrible! It’s terrible! I only wish your
     Pa was here.”

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American Literature – American Poetry – Edgar A. Guest – Poems by Edgar A. Guest – A Heap o’ Livin’

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A Heap o’ Livin’

When Pa Counts

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