This thing of writing "homely verse,"
With country phrases, jokes and slang;
With "jiminies!" "by hecks!" and such,
With "backwoods" odor, taste and tang—
This thing, I say, of making light
Of country life is funny—Not!
I'd like to know where we would be
If farms were all to go to pot!
We talk a lot of "backyard farms,"
"Intensive gard'ning"—"how to raise
All vegetables that you need
On ten square feet in twenty days."
We figure fortunes that six hens
Will bring us—if we keep 'em penned;
And yet, when farmers are the butt
Of jokes, who rises to defend?
I'm weary of this silly pose,
This pseudo-humor, sickly wit;
I will not laugh or even smile
When at the farmers jokesmiths hit.
Especially this time of year
I do denounce it! (Uncle Jim
Out on his farm lives well—and he
Has asked us all to visit him!)
THAT SMILE
I sure do like that kid, although I know
He's rotten spoiled, and ought to be suppressed.
He's boiling over with boy-nonsense! So
The neighbors have no chance to get a rest.
Not bad, you understand; just "some unlucky"
In getting caught at things, once in a while;
Yet when he does, he never runs—he's plucky!
But plays that smile of his, that flashing smile.
Sometimes when he has done a foolish thing—
Like "hoeing weeds" with our best garden hose,
Or in the rose bed "built a min'rul spring,"
He's bound to make me peevish, goodness knows!
Yet when he tries to "'splain it all" to me,
I don't succumb a moment to his guile;
I'm stern, as stern, indeed, as I can be—
Until he smiles that mother-given smile!
Perhaps he doesn't understand how strong
A weapon he possesses—Gracious me!
Disarmed by it, I can not right the wrong
By scolding him, however forcefully.
I do believe, if Fate itself were bent
On breaking him, 'twould hesitate a while
And feel ashamed!... He wins without intent
Because—God bless him!—he knows when to smile.
THE GIFT OF GIFTS
If Antoinette were sitting here before the cheery blaze,
And she should ask me what I'd like to-morrow—day of days—
Would not my heart leap to my mouth, as any chap's would do,
While leaning down to her pink ear, I softly whispered, "You!"
If Antoinette were just to give me half a chance to say
What gift of gifts I'd like the best, how long would I delay
In taking her into my arms and keeping her there, too,
While earnestly I answer her with one brief, heartfelt "You!"