All untaught their native grace,
Joy in every grinning face,
To the music they are gaily keeping
perfect time and pace.
But, infirm and aged crones,
Do not risk your ancient bones;
Your old nerves would suffer sadly
jarred and jolted by the stones.
A BALL GAME
There never was a place so bad
But one redeeming trait it had.
Now Harlem is no good at all
Save as a place for playing ball.
But there the boys will run and play
Their favorite game 'most every day.
But, Reverend sir, 'twould foolish be
To play, with your rheumatic knee.
And, Deacon, do not try, I beg,
To play the game with your game leg.