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Edgar Guest - The Mother`s QuestionEdgar Guest - The Mother`s Question
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When I was a boy, and it chanced to rain,     Mother would always watch for me; She used to stand by the window pane,     Worried and troubled as she could be. And this was the question I used to hear, The very minute that I drew near; The words she used, I can`t forget: "Tell me, my boy, if your feet are wet." Worried about me was mother dear,     As healthy a lad as ever strolled Over a turnpike, far or near,     `Fraid to death that I`d take a cold. Always stood by the window pane, Watching for me in the pouring rain; And her words in my ears are ringing yet: "Tell me, my boy, if your feet are wet." Stockings warmed by the kitchen fire,     And slippers ready for me to wear; Seemed that mother would never tire,     Giving her boy the best of care, Thinking of him the long day through, In the worried way that all mothers do; Whenever it rained she`d start to fret, Always fearing my feet were wet. And now, whenever it rains, I see     A vision of mother in days of yore, Still waiting there to welcome me,     As she used to do by the open door. And always I think as I enter there Of a mother`s love and a mother`s care; Her words in my ears are ringing yet: "Tell me, my boy, if your feet are wet."
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