Classic Poem

Always whenever I want to play
I've got to practice an hour a day,
Get through breakfast and make my bed,
And Mother says: " Marjorie, run ahead!
There's a time for work and a time for fun,
So go and get your practicing done. "
And Bud, he chuckles and says to me:
" Yes, do your practicing, Marjorie. "
A brother's an awful tease, you know,
And he just says that 'cause I hate it so.

They leave me alone in the parlor there
To play the scales or " The Maiden's Prayer, "
And if I stop, Mother's bound to call,
" Marjorie dear, you're not playing at all!
Don't waste your time, but keep right on,
Or you'll have to stay when the hour is gone. "
Or maybe the maid looks in at me
And says: " You're not playing, as I can see.
Just hustle along — I've got work to do
And I can't dust the room until you get through. "

Then when I've run over the scales and things
Like " The Fairies' Dance, " or " The Mountain Springs, "
And my fingers ache and my head is sore,
I find I must sit there a half hour more.
An hour is terribly long, I say,
When you've got to practice and want to play.
So slowly at times has the big hand dropped
That I was sure that the clock had stopped,
But Mother called down to me: " Don't forget —
A full hour, please. It's not over yet. "

Oh, when I get big and have children, too,
There's one thing that I will never do —
I won't have brothers to tease the girls
And make them mad when they pull their curls
And laugh at them when they've got to stay
And practice their music an hour a day;
I won't have a maid like the one we've got,
That likes to boss you around a lot;
And I won't have a clock that can go so slow
When it's practice time, 'cause I hate it so.