Edgar Albert Guest (Эдгар Альберт Гест)
The Broken Drum
There is sorrow in the household; There's a grief too hard to bear; There's a little cheek that's tear-stained There's a sobbing baby there. And try how we will to comfort, Still the tiny teardrops come; For, to solve a vexing problem, Curly Locks has wrecked his drum. It had puzzled him and worried, How the drum created sound; For he couldn't understand it It was not enough to pound With his tiny hands and drumsticks, And at last the day has come, When another hope is shattered; Now in ruins lies his drum. With his metal bank he broke it, Tore the tightened skin aside, Gazed on vacant space bewildered, Then he broke right down and cried. For the broken bubble shocked him And the baby tears must come; Now a joy has gone forever: Curly Locks has wrecked his drum. While his mother tries to soothe him, I am sitting here alone; In the life that lies behind me; Many shocks like that I've known. And the boy who's upstairs weeping, In the years that are to come Will learn that many pleasures Are as empty as his drum.
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