To a Mountain Rat
By Frank B. Lindeman.
Yes I reckon God made ye
He’s blamed for rattlesnakes,
And porcupines and woodchucks,
And if they ain’t mistakes
Ye’re a crowin’ example
Of carelessness divine,
To nigh the danger line.
Yer winkless eye in innocence
Hides cunnin’ cussedness,
And yer skin is full to bustin’
With a longin’ to possess
All things that don’t belong to you,
But when all’s said and done
There’s things on earth ye’ve failed to steal,
And reputation’s one.
* * *
The real John Barleycorn of older days is gone, but not forgotten.
Those of us who knew him best, and loved him most,
Stuck with him ’til the last drop.
* * *
Pretty (looking over the new theatre down-town)—What do you think of the excavation?
Witty—Oh, it’s pretty good as a whole.
* * *