by Edgar Albert Guest

Edgar Albert Guest

YOU'RE not feeling well today,
Little Fellow,
You're not very keen for play,
Little Fellow;
All you want to do is nap
On your mother's comfy lap
And you lack your vim and snap,
Little Fellow.
When you're well it's me you pick,
Little Fellow,
For the romp and roguish trick,
Little Fellow;
But when you are feeling weak
And the color leaves your cheek,
It's your mother that you seek,
Little Fellow.
Then you want your mother's breast,
Little Fellow, That's the finest place to rest,
Little Fellow;
When the fever's burning you,
You know, just as once I knew,
Only mother's arms will do,
Little Fellow.
Now I'm sitting in my den,
Little Fellow, Waiting till you come again,
Little Fellow;
And I hear the gentle croon
Of a sweet and soothing tune,
And I hope you'll get here soon,
Little Fellow.

Last updated January 14, 2019