The White Cliffs by Alice Duer Miller

My father came over now and then To look at the boy, and talk to me, Never staying long, For the urge was strong To get back to his yawl and the summer sea. He came like a nomad passing by, Hands in his pockets, hat over one eye, Teasing every one great and small With a blank straight face and a Yankee drawl; Teasing the Vicar on Apostolic Succession And what the Thirty-Nine Articles really meant to convey, Teasing Nanny, though he did not Make much impression On that imperturbable Scot. Teasing our local grandee, a noble peer, Who firmly believed the Ten Lost Tribes Of Israel had settled here-- A theory my father had at his fingers' ends-- Only one person was always safe from his jibes-- My mother-in-law, for they were really friends.