When we reach the Land of Forty,
And the hot blood cools a jot,
There's a mighty sight of changes
In our vision, like as not;
And we sober down a little
As we figure up life's sum
When we waken in the morning
And the crow's feet come.
When they scratch their little wrinkles
Round the corner of the eyes
We begin to chase the creatures
In a horrified surprise;
But they cling with cool persistence
And our hearts are stricken dumb
For we know they'll never leave us
When the crow's feet come.
We may tonic and cosmetic,
We may take our beauty sleep;
We may rub and punch and powder
But the claws go deep and deep;
And before we understand it
All our beauty's on the bum
For the years are turning yellow
When the crow's feet come!
But it's all the way of Nature!
There's no use to sob or sigh,
'Cause the chin takes on a wobble
And the wrinkles wrap the eye;
If we heap our hearts with gladness
Life with music still shall hum,
Though we reach the Land of Forty
And the crow's feet come!
A Welcome for Winter.
I.
A welcome for Winter! Though summer shall fade,
There is joy on the prairies her bounties have made,
And the Land of the Sunshine all happiness knows
Through the days of the shadows and nights of the snows!