I hollered, “You’ll catch your death!”
You cried, “Who cares?” like some whippet,
Dashing through them cotton fields with your hair wild.
I followed behind, like I do.
I pretend to be angry when you laugh at me, but
I’m always kind of pleased to amuse you.
Sometimes when you’re scrubbing by the sink and I pass by, you shout,
“Wash your face!” and flick water in my eyes so quick I freeze (and kick your leg and run away).