When Mother drops things on the floor,
My father asks me: “Who
Should always pick them up for her?”
And so I always do.

He says I haven’t far to reach
And that a gentleman
Must do things for his Mother
And be helpful as he can.

But Mother bends down just the same,—
She has to, don’t you see?
For after she’s said “Thank you, dear,”
She stoops and kisses me.