Are we there yet?— comes the restless cry
of bouncing children in the car’s back seat.
No, darlings, we will get there by and by
comes from a front-seat grownup in reply.
Before too long, the rigmarole repeats:
are we there yet? —now a plaintive cry
much louder and annoyingly pitched high.
Again the answer, in a tone now not so sweet:
sit down, be quiet; we will get there by and by.
There is nothing for it but to lie back, sigh
and take a nap or find some munchables to eat.
Are we there yet?—-a forbidden, useless cry.
Staring out the window, a daydreaming little eye
watches the road, the trees, advance, retreat
in endless tickings toward the by and by—
it would inquire of a power in the passing sky
with no one else to hear, unvoiced, discreet—
are we there yet? Then in a whimper, not a cry,
say to itself: just wait until I get there, by and by.
.ARE WE THERE YET?