Luther Burbank
(After reading the poem by John Trotwood Moore, October Trotwood’s Monthly.)
They say you touched the desert
And turned its thorns to fruit;
That you nodded to the Daisy,
And raised the Lily mute;
That flowers ran to meet you,
The kind whose souls had died;
That they begged to touch your garment,
And they all stood glorified.
You’re a Poet, Preacher, Painter,
And a Master, all in one,
And I do congratulate you
On the good that you have done.
For your weddings have been “Fruitful,”
As the nuptial knot you tied
(With a Cabbage for a bridegroom
And an Onion for a bride).
And while you hang sweet pictures
On the boughs in gold and red,
There is one thing that you can’t do—
GROW SOME HAIR ON MY BALD HEAD.
E. E. SWEETLAND.