There are noises that freeze up the blood,
There's the sound of the burglar at night
As he's picking the lock, and the thud
Of a wind-worried door I thought tight;
But there's nothing that frightens me more
Nor causes such horrible dread
As the bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed.
The coal pile may rattle and roll
As it will in its uncanny way,
But I keep my nerves under control.
The neighbor's pet canine may bay
At the moon, and I merely turn o'er,
But I lose absolutely my head
At that bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed.
A shot may ring out in the street,
And 'murder' a woman may yell;
I may listen to scurrying feet
But I handle myself rather well.
A dark house I'll even explore,
But my heart stops as though I were dead
At that bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed.
I know that the old mothers say
That once every baby must fall,
That they seldom are hurt in that way
And really don't mind it at all;
But still terror closes each pore
And my hair stands up straight on my head
At that bumpety-bump on the floor
When the baby falls out of his bed.
A Scare
Edgar Albert Guest
(1)
Poem topics: dark, hair, heart, house, moon, murder, night, wind, woman, listen, mind, door, street, straight, thought, absolutely, sound, control, horrible, head, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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