NOVEMBER
Who's that pedler at the door?
What! November, back once more?
Why, it seems but yesterday
That he took himself away!
Say I'm out! Tell him to go!
He has nothing new to show.
Same old lay-out every trip,
Same Pneumonia, same old Grippe,
Same old Hard Luck tales to tell,
Same Thanksgiving Day—oh, well,
Show him in—then stir the log
And bring church-warden pipes and grog.
