Not Big Like Me.

There’s a baby that’s come to our house today, And I understand he came here to stay; I’ve prayed for a sister ever so long, But it’s a brother, with lungs lusty and strong. I can’t say that I’m pleased with his pink and red looks, Although I wanted to show him my books, He wouldn’t look my way, how hard I would try; He’d pucker his face up and cry and cry. But mammy says he’ll be as big as me Some day, but somehow I cannot see; I’m almost a man now, I’m nearly three On my next birthday in January. I thought when I prayed for a sister that I Would have a playmate, not one that would cry; And one who’d be out in the garden to play With me, the whole of the livelong day. I guess I must wait till he really grows, And gets big like me—heaven only knows, I’ll just call up central, and tell her that we Have a boy at our house—not big like me. And I know she’ll be glad, for I called her up Sometime ago—I said, please don’t stop, But telephone to heaven, my number fifty-seven, To send me a sister to earth from heaven. But I can’t understand that I ever was small Like this little fellow, with cap, gown and all; I’ll show him my marbles, my hoop and my sled, And I’ll call him Albert, while you call him Fred.