Such High Taxes, Gee-Whilaker.
Meadow larks, as you have undoubtedly noticed, warble many different songs. They sound like this to me: One says, “Here is your homesick girl.” Another, “Light the light, it is gone down.” Another, “Here is your English preacher.” Another, “The smeeking smock bird,” and others, from which the following poem is written, say, “Such high taxes, Gee-whilaker.”
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As I stood in the yard of our high taxed home,
And filled my lungs with pure ozone,
My eye went wandering far and nigh,
And I saw a meadow lark flitting by.
He flew to a post for a moment’s rest,
And gazed a while both east and west,
And then soared on, going higher and higher,
Till he perched way up on the court house spire.
From a bird’s eye view of quaint renown,
He sized up the modern Julesburg town,
The stand pipe built on the court house square,
Is an old eye sore with a record rare.
The power house hid from the passer by
Must been for economy, heat or pie?
The city sewer, electric lights,
Cement side-walks and high school sites,
Was picturesque and nice to heed,
But sad for the one that held the deed.
He raised his head as he ceased to note,
And out from the depths of his golden throat
His voice did peal as he said with a whirr,
Such high taxes, Gee-whilaker.
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To the Mrs.
I am going to take a kiss,
And I know it’s not a miss,
But before I miss my kisses,
I will take them from the Mrs.
Kisses from the dear old Mrs.
Are the sweetest kind of kisses.
But if the Misses kisses,
Then there will be kisses Mrs.
Just as long as Mrs. kisses,
There’s no trouble with the Misses
But let the Misses kisses
And something’s doing Misses Mrs.
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Don’t Procrastinate.
Don’t wait till tomorrow,
For joy or sorrow,
And miss the golden today.
For every minute,
Your heart’s not in it,
There’s something slipping away.
’Twas Jesus who said,
’Ere his spirit fled,
On the cross at Calvary,
That he who had hope,
Need never grope,
For the better things to be.
So don’t never worry,
And fret and flurry,
For things that’s not for you,
But hammer away,
At life’s forge today,
For things that are good and true.
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Sister Mary.
Mary, I know not who
Has a truer heart than you.
Your’s a life that does excell
For doing every duty well.
In this world of woman kind
A purer life I couldn’t find,
If I looked my life time thru,
I would bring the crown to you.
I am proud to tell you, dear,
Your’s has been a life of cheer,
Where every hardship, trial and sorrow,
Was sweetly met before tomorrow.
May God’s blessing sweetly rest,
In a life so richly blessed
With kind words and cheerfulness,
For every heart that knew distress.
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