There is a very cute little boy named Larry
Sometimes he is good, sometimes raises old Harry.
Then his grandmother begins to fume and to fret
And finally paddles that on which he is supposed to sit.
Then he storms, raves, threatens, and shakes his fist
So she has to punish him by a slap on the wrist.
But when he is shown the dark closet door
He says he will be good, not do it any more.
He plays with Pearl, Charkie, Dobbin and Nigger Joe.
But carries old Sumantha Ann where'r he will go.
He gets his wagon, firetruck and together his train he'll splice.
While Gumbo, Neddy and Bobcat sit up and look nice.
With his bag of blocks he builds many, many things
Castles, cottages, hoosegows and railroads in log strings.
Where his kin folks lie, he'll tell you the name of the place
And rattle off big words without even making a face.
The roomers all love him, think things he does are funny.
When they pay me, he tells the names of the faces on money.
He does the duck waddle, turns flip flops and does drop four
He reads Mother Goose, does many smart things more.
When outdoors, he plays with Sally who lives next door,
Goes with me when I go for groceries at the store.
Has his wagon, mess of junk, Charley horse or engine to ride
Sometimes plays with Stanley who lives on the other side.
All in all, his grandmother thinks he's a smart lad.
Note: This is about her great-grandson Larry Ormsby. This was written sometime in the late 1940's when Larry was between 3-7 years old. Grandma Hill ran a boarding house with "roomers". Most of the names in this poem refer to his toys, but Sally and Stanley were neighborhood kids.
These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.