A Clean Face

These amusing verses were requested by a reader. They are kindly supplied by a correspondent from an old picture book which has come down through the generations.

Oh, why must my face be washed so clean,

And scrubbed and drenched for Sunday,

When you very well know, as you’ve always seen,

‘Twill be dirty again on Monday.

My hair is stiff with the lathery soap

That behind my ears is dripping

And my smarting eyes I’m afraid to ope,

And my lips the suds are sipping.

They’re down my throat, and up my nose,

And to choke me you seem to be trying;

That I’ll shut my mouth you needn’t suppose,

For how can I keep from crying?

And you rub as hard as ever you can,

And your hands are hard to my sorrow;

No one shall wash me when I’m a man,

And I wish I were one tomorrow.

E. Leslie