Verse and Worse

With guilty, conscience-stricken tears, I offer up these rhymes of mine To children of maturer years (From Seventeen to Ninety-nine). A special solace may they be In days of second infancy. The frenzied mother who observes This volume in her offspring's hand, And trembles for the darling's nerves, Must please to clearly understand, If baby suffers by and by The Publisher's at fault, not I! But should the little brat survive, And fatten on this style of Rhyme, To raise a Heartless Home and thrive Through a successful life of crime, The Publisher would have you see That I am to be thanked, not he! Fond parent, you whose children are Of tender age (from two to eight), Pray keep this little volume far From reach of such, and relegate My verses to an upper shelf; Where you may study them yourself.