As mother bathed the black eye of her little lad,
He explained he was not to blame for the fight he had.
Mother said “Son, you may think you were right,
But remember, it takes two to make a fight.”
When the work on the eye was done,
She took the hand of her little son;
Led him out in the yard to view the hills,
Whose echoes had given them many thrills.
“Now, son,” mother said, “Call loud and clear,
All the ugly names you can think of, dear;
And pause for a moment between each one,”
As he did, right back they’d come.
