Classic Poem

Dowered with the wealth of Ophir,
Reared on costly caviare,
Driven by a foreign chauffeur
In a spacious Siddeley car,
Luckless little Thompson minor
Would have paid a handsome cheque
For a mother to entwine her
Loving arms about his neck!
Though the motor's speed is greater,
Thompson much prefers “the mater!”

Long ago, with eyes all shiny,
She had asked, in tender tone:
“Would you like a little tiny
Baby-sister of your own?”
Now it stung him like a blister
That he'd answered: “I should like,
Not a tiny baby-sister,
But a full-sized motor-bike!”
That was why no fair relation
Welcomed Thompson at the station!

Other fellows had a mother;
Sisters met them at the train.
As he watched them kiss each other,
Thompson's heart was racked with pain.
Not a single fond, devoted
Female waited for him there,
And with bitterness he quoted:
“Can a motor's tender care…?”
(This, you must admit, was crim'nal;
Boys should never quote the Hymnal.)

See, his friends, in cabs and taxis,
Hold maternal fingers tight,
While poor Thomson minor waxes
Sad and sadder at the sight!
For although, perhaps, he'd rather,
At the hour of his return,
Have a motor than a father
(Fathers can be harsh and stern!);
Can he hope his sobs to smother,
With a motor for a mother?