ALL day long they come and go, -- Pittypat and Tippytoe; Footprints up and down the hall, Playthings scattered on the floor, Finger-marks along the wall, Tell-tale streaks upon the door, -- By these presents you shall know Pittypat and Tippytoe.
How they riot at their play! And, a dozen times a day, In they troop, demanding bread, -- Only buttered bread will do, And that butter must be spread Inches thick with sugar too! Never yet have I said, "No, Pittypat and Tippytoe!"
Sometimes there are griefs to soothe, Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth; For -- I much regret to say -- Tippytoe and Pittypat Sometimes interrupt their play With an internecine spat; Fie! oh, fie! to quarrel so, Pittypat and Tippytoe!
Oh, the thousand worrying things Every day recurrent brings! Hands to scrub and hair to brush, Search for playthings gone amiss, Many a murmuring to hush, Many a little bump to kiss; Life's indeed a fleeting show, Pittypat and Tippytoe!
And when day is at an end, There are little duds to mend; Little frocks are strangely torn, Little shoes great holes reveal, Little hose, but one day worn, Rudely yawn at toe or heel! Who but you could work such woe, Pittypat and Tippytoe!
But when comes this thought to me, "Some there are that childless be," Stealing to their little beds, With a love I cannot speak, Tenderly I stroke their heads, Fondly kiss each velvet cheek.
God help those who do not know A Pittypat or Tippytoe!
On the floor, along the hall, Rudely traced upon the wall, There are proofs in every kind Of the havoc they have wrought; And upon my heart you'd find Just such trademarks, if you sought.
Oh, how glad I am 'tis so, Pittypat and Tippytoe!
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