Author: Guy Wetmore Carryl

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    A worthy couple, man and wife,
    Dragged on a discontented life:
    The reason, I should state,
    That it was destitute of joys,
    Was that they had a dozen boys
    To feed and educate,
    And nothing such patience demands
    As having twelve boys on your hands!

    For twenty years they tried their best
    To keep those urchins neatly dressed
    And teach them to be good,
    But so much labor it involved
    That, in the end, they both resolved
    To lose them in a wood,
    Though nothing a parent annoys
    Like heartlessly losing his boys!

    So when their sons had gone to bed,
    Though bitter tears the couple shed,
    They laid their little plan.
    "Faut b'en que a s'fasse. Quand mme,"
    The woman said, "J'en suis tout' blme."
    "a colle!" observed the man,
    "Mais a coute, que ces gosses fichus!
    B'en, quoi! Faut qu'i's soient perdus!"

    (I've quite omitted to explain
    That they were natives of Touraine;
    I see I must translate.)
    "Of course it must be done, and still,"
    The wife remarked, "it makes me ill."
    "You bet!" replied her mate:
    "But we've both of us counted the cost,
    And the kids simply have to be lost!"

    But, while they plotted, every word
    The youngest of the urchins heard,
    And winked the other eye;
    His height was only two feet three.
    (I might remark, in passing, he
    Was little, but O My!)
    He added: "I'd better keep mum."
    (He was foxy, was Hop O' My Thumb!)

    They took the boys into the wood,
    And lost them, as they said they should,
    And came in silence back.
    Alas for them! Hop O' My Thumb
    At every step had dropped a crumb,
    And so retraced the track.
    While the parents sat mourning their fate
    He led the boys in at the gate!

    He placed his hand upon his heart,
    And said: "You think you're awful smart,
    But I have foiled you thus!"
    His parents humbly bent the knee,
    And meekly said: "H. O. M. T.,
    You're one too much for us!"
    And both of them solemnly swore
    "We won't never do so no more!"


    The Moral is: While I do not
    Endeavor to condone the plot,
    I still maintain that one
    Should have no chance of being foiled,
    And having one's arrangements spoiled
    By one's ingenious son.
    If you turn down your children, with pain,
    Take care they don't turn up again!

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Type of Poem: Fable

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: The poem presents a narrative in a light-hearted, humorous tone, recounting the tale of a couple burdened by their twelve sons, and their failed attempts to lose them in the woods. The themes of parental responsibility, mischievous childhood, and the unexpected consequences of one’s actions are all explored.

The poem adopts a traditional rhyming structure, maintaining a consistent rhythm throughout, which enhances its storytelling aspect. The utilization of dialogue adds a sense of immediacy and naturalism, while the inclusion of French phrases emphasizes the couple’s origins and adds an element of realism, even within the poem’s whimsical context.

The use of a moral at the end, meanwhile, hearkens back to the tradition of fables, underscoring the poem's inherent lesson. Irony is a key literary device in the poem, particularly in the unexpected twist where the youngest son, Hop O' My Thumb, is able to outsmart his parents by dropping crumbs to retrace their steps. This child's resourcefulness and cunning contrast sharply with the parents' desperate and somewhat ridiculous plot, offering a commentary on underestimated intelligence and resilience of youth.

Overall, the poem is a delightful mix of humor and wisdom, blending the serious message about parental responsibility and the consequences of one’s action with a playful narrative. With its vivid characterization, engaging dialogue, and unexpected plot twists, it offers an entertaining yet thought-provoking read.