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.