At Breakfast Time

Poem for the Day
(I think this was written for me and my dad)

At Breakfast Time
by Edgar Albert Guest

My Pa he eats his breakfast 
in a funny sort of way: 
We hardly ever see him 
at the first meal of the day. 
Ma puts his food before him 
and he settles in his place 
An' then he props the paper up 
and we can't see his face; 
We hear him blow his coffee 
and we hear him chew his toast, 
But it's for the morning paper 
that he seems to care the most. 

Ma says that little children 
mighty grateful ought to be 
To the folks that fixed the evening 
as the proper time for tea. 
She says if meals were only served 
to people once a day, 
An' that was in the morning 
just before Pa goes away, 
We'd never know how father looked 
when he was in his place, 
Coz he'd always have the morning paper 
stuck before his face. 

He drinks his coffee steamin' hot, 
an' passes Ma his cup 
To have it filled a second time, 
an' never once looks up. 
He never has a word to say, 
but just sits there an' reads, 
An' when she sees his hand stuck out 
Ma gives him what he needs. 
She guesses what it is he wants, 
coz it's no use to ask: 
Pa's got to read his paper 
an' sometimes that's quite a task. 

One morning we had breakfast 
an' his features we could see, 
But his face was long an' solemn 
an' he didn't speak to me, 
An' we couldn't get him laughin' 
an' we couldn't make him smile, 
An' he said the toast was soggy 
an' the coffee simply vile. 
Then Ma said: 'What's the matter? 
Why are you so cross an' glum?' 
An' Pa 'most took her head off 
coz the paper didn't come.