Edgar Albert Guest (Эдгар Альберт Гест)
Grown Up
Last year he wanted building blocks, And picture books and toys, A saddle horse that gayly rocks, And games for little boys. But now he's big and all that stuff His whim no longer suits; He tells us that he's old enough To ask for rubber boots. Last year whatever Santa brought Delighted him to own; He never gave his wants a thought Nor made his wishes known. But now he says he wants a gun, The kind that really shoots, And I'm confronted with a son Demanding rubber boots. The baby that we used to know Has somehow slipped away, And when or where he chanced to go Not one of us can say. But here's a helter-skelter lad That to me nightly scoots And boldly wishes that he had A pair of rubber boots. I'll bet old Santa Claus will sigh When down our flue he comes, And seeks the babe that used to lie And suck his tiny thumbs, And finds within that little bed A grown up boy who hoots At building blocks, and wants instead A pair of rubber boots.
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