That some pronouns are sexless
Is a constant source of joy
To one who can’t remember
If your kid’s a girl or boyl
by Ray Romine Friday, February 12, 1954
Selections from Trella Romine's library at Terradise Nature Center
Children
That some pronouns are sexless
Is a constant source of joy
To one who can’t remember
If your kid’s a girl or boyl
by Ray Romine Friday, February 12, 1954
We show him which fork is correct,
And how to eat his pie,
To comb his hair,which socks to wear,
And how to knot his tie.
He’s taught which books he ought to read;
Which men to emulate;
The proper sort of manly sport,
And how to clean his plate.
We teach him Please, Thank You, and Sir,
Be seen, and never heard;
To be, in fact, a bear for tact
In each sense of the word.
And let us keep our faith, for though
Sometimes he won’t be shown,
And skips the plan, he’ll be a man
Entirely on his own!
by Ray Romine Sunday, February 17, 1952
With abnormal promptitude,
Daughter rises from her food.
Like the busy bee, some gnome-quirk
Gravitates her to her homework
Where her brow, as smooth as satin,
Puckers fiercely over Latin.
She, non-social and unminglish,
Has some furious bouts with English;
Or, if it lies in her path,
Wrestles mightily with Math–
Daughter is Oh-so-ambitious
When it’s time to do the dishes…
by Ray Romine Thursday, March 8, 1951
Bumptious boys on Hallowe’en
Are worse than ghosts or witches;
At least, they do more damage,
The little sons-of-guns!
by Ray Romine Thursday, October 31, 1946
Those little “nonsense” items
He puts out with such vim:
Give heed, that you judge wisely
What’s life and death to him.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 21, 1950
I’ll not hold forth, as I’veheard some,
At kids who swallow chewing gum,
For, once it’s down I can’t detect
An inkling of an ill effect;
And after it has lost its taste
Who can cry about the waste?
Less harmful down, don’t you agree,
Than out–on our upholstery?
by Ray Romine Saturday, October 27, 1951
Two little girls are hard at play:
Their scooters are big limousines,
All shining red with yellow wheels
That carry little pretend-Queens.
Their yearning minds are hard at work,
Straining for reality;
Their parents, sick with all that’s real,
Yearn just as hard for phantasy.
by Ray Romine Friday, August 31, 1945