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.