Just Folks

The Mother's Question

          When I was a boy, and it chanced to rain,
            Mother would always watch for me;
          She used to stand by the window pane,
            Worried and troubled as she could be.
          And this was the question I used to hear,
          The very minute that I drew near;
          The words she used, I can't forget:
          "Tell me, my boy, if your feet are wet."

          Worried about me was mother dear,
            As healthy a lad as ever strolled
          Over a turnpike, far or near,
            'Fraid to death that I'd take a cold.
          Always stood by the window pane,
          Watching for me in the pouring rain;
          And her words in my ears are ringing yet:
          "Tell me, my boy, if your feet are wet."

          Stockings warmed by the kitchen fire,
            And slippers ready for me to wear;
          Seemed that mother would never tire,
            Giving her boy the best of care,
          Thinking of him the long day through,
          In the worried way that all mothers do;
          Whenever it rained she'd start to fret,
          Always fearing my feet were wet.

          And now, whenever it rains, I see
            A vision of mother in days of yore,
          Still waiting there to welcome me,
            As she used to do by the open door.
          And always I think as I enter there
          Of a mother's love and a mother's care;
          Her words in my ears are ringing yet:
          "Tell me, my boy, if your feet are wet."