I wonder that John keeps it on.
It once was tall,
But now it is small—
Like a closed accordeon.
THE FAITHFUL WATCHMAN, JOHN S. CROW.
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But a steady old chap
Is John S. Crow,
And for months has stood at his post;
For corn you know
Takes time to grow,
And ’tis long between seed and roast.
GRANDFATHER. And it had to be watched And guarded with care From the time it was put in the ground, For over there, And everywhere, Sad thieves were waiting around. Sad thieves in black, A cowardly set, Who waited for John to be gone, That they might get A chance to upset The plans of the planter of corn. |
They were no kin to John,
Though they bore his name