A Scare

Poem for the Day:

A Scare

by Edgar Albert Guest

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. 

Edgar Albert Guest