_A Victim_

My Auntie has a camera, and when I'm out at play And see her coming with it, I try to hide away. For oh, it is so bothersome to hear her, with a laugh, Call, "Stand just were you are, dear; I'll take a photograph."

Sometimes, an angry lion, I have just begun to roar, And all the children run from me to sneak behind the door, When Auntie to our forest comes--why does she stop our fun? I'd like to shoot that camera there with my wooden gun.

Perhaps, a fire engine, I am rushing to a fire, While people loudly call for help as flames rise higher and higher. I hurry toward the hydrant here, for oh! the flames are hot! When Auntie with her camera cries, "What a fine snapshot!"

But then it doesn't seem to snap, so I must be polite, And when she says, "Oh please, stand still, the sun is not just right," I have to pull up where I am, and see that house burn down, For Auntie doesn't understand, even when I twist and frown.

She only says, "Don't squirm, my pet! Oh, what a cunning pose! Your scowl is better than a smile,"--so that's the way it goes-- A p'liceman or an admiral, no matter what I am, I have to face that camera as quiet as a lamb.