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 Verdigris Valley Verse 
 
1 
 
ALBERT STROUD 
 
 I 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 A VOLUME OF ORIGINAL POEMS 
 
 By ALBERT STROUD 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 The Journal Press-i^^^it Coffey ville, Kansas 
 1917 
 
Copyright. 1917 
 By Albert Stroud 
 
 NOV 30 1917 
 
 ©CU48J032 
 
 
 tQJb 
 
 ( 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction 11 
 
 Things We Ought to Know 13 
 
 Revising the Bible 14 
 
 Beautiful Snow 15 
 
 Intensive Gardening 16 
 
 Poetry and Weather 17 
 
 The Kansas That Was 18 
 
 The Warrior's Farewell 19 
 
 When Pa Goes Fishin' 22 
 
 An Inalienable Right 23 
 
 English As She Is Not Spelled 24 
 
 Voices of the Night 25 
 
 Cadmus and Europa 26 
 
 The Melancholy Days 27 
 
 Godiva Up to Date 28 
 
 The Weather Grouch 29 
 
 Small -Potatoes 30 
 
 Kate Bender Dead Again 31 
 
 Striking It Rich , 32 
 
 When the Worm Turned 34 
 
 Damon and Pythias 35 
 
 Tell, the Swiss Patriot 36 
 
 Down Where They Raise 'Em 38 
 
 The Return of the Bustle 39 
 
 A Restaurant Tragedy 39 
 
 A Western Romance 40 
 
 The Limit of Patience 42 
 
 The Call of Duty 43 
 
 Who Are the Heathen? 44 
 
 Out of a Job 45 
 
 Modern Robin Hood 46 
 
 The Neversweat 47 
 
 The Summer Appetite 48 
 
 Balak and Baalam 49 
 
 Wasted Opportunities 50 
 
 Propriety in Dress 52 
 
 Joys of Spring 53 
 
 When Zekiel Played the Fiddle 54 
 
 The Last of Tim 55 
 
 When Rover Runned Away 56 
 
 A Perverted Invention 58 
 
 The Would-Be Tax Dodger 59 
 
 Looking on the Bright Side 61 
 
 Woes of the Wealthy 62 
 
 A Plea for the Teacher 63 
 
 Work for the Booster Club 64 
 
 The Pessimist's Plaint 65 
 
 The Ideal Season 66 
 
 The Christmas Fiddle 68 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 Sister's Summer Hat 70 
 
 Exit J. Barleycorn 72 
 
 The Moving Season 73 
 
 Getting Back to the Farm 74 
 
 Fishing Time 7& 
 
 A Cat-astrophe , 77 
 
 Downfall of the Speed Fiend 78 
 
 No Time to Vote 79 
 
 Knocking the Doctor 80 
 
 Legislative Superfluity 81 
 
 Julius Caesar 82 
 
 The Prodigal Son 83 
 
 The Baby Sister 84 
 
 New Year Resolves 85 
 
 The Snorer 8e 
 
 House Cleaning Time 87 
 
 Following Suit 87 
 
 Hand-Me-Down Maxims 88 
 
 The Summer of Umpity-Steen 90 
 
 City Elections 91 
 
 Christmas Giving 92 
 
 The Calendar and the Girl 94 
 
 The Pawpaw 96 
 
 The Legislature 97 
 
 School Day Memories 98 
 
 The Warm Weather Nuisance 99 
 
 The National Guard 100 
 
 It Was a Church Wedding 101 
 
 A Plea for the Mule 102 
 
 The Spider and the Fly 103 
 
 The Parade Habit 104 
 
 The Successful Failure 105 
 
 Gardening by Almanac 106 
 
 The Call of the Brook „ 107 
 
 Requiescat in Partes 108 
 
 Baby Bye— Revised 109 
 
 Taking Vacations 110 
 
 Hereditary Crime 112 
 
 The Assessor 113 
 
 When Willie Jined the Band 114 
 
 "Nothing in the Paper" 116 
 
 Keeping Up the Interest 117 
 
 The Reformed Reformer 118 
 
 What's In a Name? 119 
 
 Everything Is High 120 
 
 A Tussle with Grip 121 
 
 High Water Time 122 
 
 It Isn't Any Snap 123 
 
 The Three Fishers 124 
 
 10 
 
Introduction 
 
 Many of the poems in this book have never 
 been printed before, but a majority of them 
 appeared originally in newspapers for which 
 the author has worked for the past dozen years. 
 They have been freely copied in a wide circle 
 of exchanges, whose editors have been more 
 than welcome to them. Only those are used 
 here which are general as to subject matter, 
 or which admit of revision, or those of recent 
 production; for the "verse of the period," like 
 news, rapidly deteriorates and what is of inter- 
 est today is forgotten tomorrow. Some were 
 written to satisfy a curiosity to see them in 
 print, others to fill the demand for something 
 to brighten up the front page. Their publica- 
 tion in book form came as an afterthought; for 
 a premature dive into literature in his callow 
 years satisfied the author for quite awhile. 
 Still he looks back to the time of the launching 
 of "Ancient Myths" (a take-off on Greek 
 mythology) as a real adventure and nothing 
 else that came of it is as highly prized as the 
 sacred, blue envelope from Eugene Ware — one 
 of the greatest poets the nation ever produced 
 — containing the encouraging statement that 
 "You certainly show talent and it will improve 
 as you proceed," Ironquill, could you return 
 from the land where all good poets go, long 
 enough to be my critic for a second time, I 
 wonder if you would say: "It has improved." 
 
 The Author. 
 
 11 
 
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 A VERDIGRIS RIVER SCENE 
 Upon the shore that lined the Verdi's peaceful way — Page 25 
 
 12 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Things We Ought to Know- 
 There are plenty of poets who sling a good pen 
 When writing an ode to the flag of the free, 
 Who prate of the flowers that spangle the glen 
 Or tell of the damp-rolling, dark-foaming sea. 
 
 But where is the man with the gift of the muse, 
 Who can make all immortal, in story and song. 
 The things that we know and the things that we use 
 And th.e things that we want as we journey along? 
 
 There are slathers of stanzas on heroes of old, 
 Which tell of the feats of the army and navy ; 
 But few of the glories have ever been told 
 That hang round a platter of chicken and gravy. 
 
 There are pale, sickly members of minstrelsy's clan 
 Who weep as they sing of humanity's fate ; 
 But let them come forward and tell, if they can, 
 The way to grow hair on a shiny, bald pate. 
 
 There are epics unnumbered in every style 
 That tell how the planets chaotically clash ; 
 But never a word on the use of the bile 
 Or a hint at the contents of boarding house hash. 
 
 TT 
 
'VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Revising the Bible 
 
 "Fm sorely peeved," said Deacon Dobbs, when he 
 came home from church, 
 
 **I used to be a crackerjack on scriptural research; 
 
 I had whole chapters memorized which I would oft- 
 times quote, 
 
 I knowed the Bible so that I could sing it through by 
 note. 
 
 "But now they've got a new revise and everything is 
 changed ; 
 
 The chapters and the verses are differently ar- 
 ranged ; 
 
 And when the preacher reads a text it don't sound 
 right at all 
 
 For Hell is rendered "Ha-dees," "Gehenna" or 
 "She-ol." 
 
 And lots of sound opinions the church has held so 
 long 
 
 The new revision indicates to be entirely wrong. 
 
 "When some smart theologian who wants to win a 
 
 name, 
 Who's studied Greek and Hebrew till he worked his 
 
 way to fame. 
 Finds out us old time brethren has got him fairly beat 
 A quotin' of the scriptures, he rises in his seat 
 And moves to change the version that we relied upon 
 From the openin' of Genesis to visions of St. John. 
 
 14 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 **I reckon in a few more years the Book will be re- 
 vised 
 Till all them ancient stories will be wholly modern- 
 ized, 
 With Adam as a boozer who drank his apple-jack 
 And Sampson as a slugger who managed to come 
 
 back; 
 With Noah as the captain of a steamer on the seas 
 Who caught wild animals for men who ran menag- 
 eries; 
 And Moses, with a job press, upon Mount Sinai, 
 Will be printin' the commandments for the people 
 
 standin' by. 
 While Jehu in his armored car with rapid firin' gun 
 Is chargin' heathen trenches from the dawn till set 
 of sun." 
 
 BEAUTIFUL SNOW 
 
 I knew that it was coming the night before it 
 came, for my rheumaticky shoulder was threaten- 
 ingly lame ; I went out on the walk to see the flakes 
 descending over me, and watched them falling, 
 falling — then I slipped and did the same. 
 
 Thou art a boon of nature, for thou wilt help the 
 wheat and drive the nimble rabbit to his narrow, 
 warm retreat. If I can track him to his den, I'll swat 
 the beef trust once again ; I'll take him home and eat 
 him, for we haven't any meat. 
 
 15 
 
Intensive Gardening 
 
 The cost of living is a fright 
 To folks who dwell in town 
 And experts figure day and night 
 On how to keep it down. 
 
 They tell us what we ought to eat 
 And how we ought to dress, 
 In paths of right they guide our feet 
 To save us from distress. 
 
 They have a sure, unfailing plan 
 That's bound to hit the spot. 
 If every woman, child and man 
 Will tend a vacant lot. 
 
 The gladsome spring will soon be here 
 When every one should go 
 And plant upon the front parterre 
 A sweet potato row. 
 
 Along the alleys and the streets 
 Would be a splendid place 
 To set out beds of early beets 
 And celery and mace. 
 
 We ought to fill the gutter spout 
 With rich and sandy loam 
 And plant the seeds of sour kraut 
 To brighten up the home. 
 
 Then forward, all ye lazy blokes, 
 Let's swat old H. C. L., 
 Raise more of beans and artichokes 
 And less of weeds and hell. 
 
 TT 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Poetry and Weather 
 
 I wrote a little poem on the melancholy days 
 
 Which told of chill and foggy winds in many a dismal 
 
 phrase ; 
 But still the golden summer lingered in the lap of fall 
 And the editor refused it for it wouldn't fit at all. 
 Said he : "Compose some stanzas about this lovely 
 
 clime 
 And bring 'em to the office and we'll use 'em every 
 
 time." 
 
 And so I sought the woodland wild, dressed in my 
 
 summer wear, 
 To draw some inspiration from the sunshine and the 
 
 air; 
 But ere I wrote a dozen lines about the bosky glen 
 A blizzard came and froze the ink within my 
 
 fountain pen ; 
 The wind blew through my garments, so gauzy and 
 
 so brief, 
 My ears got blue and wilted like a frosted pumpkin 
 
 leaf; 
 I had to hire a plumber to come down to my place 
 And set the heater up for me so I could thaw my face. 
 
 My rythmical effusion I proudly took to town 
 
 But when the printer read it he calmly threw it down. 
 
 Quoth he : "That stuff you've written is sadly out of 
 
 date. 
 The trouble is you brought it in about a day too late.'* 
 
 17 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Kansas That Was 
 
 There was a state called Kansas, it's a place I used 
 
 to know, 
 And I'd like right well to see it if I knew which way 
 
 to go; 
 Its prairies they were level and as far as eye could see 
 There wasn't any house but ours, and not a fence or 
 
 tree. 
 We had a field of second sod where tumble weeds 
 
 would grow 
 And in the fall when they were dry I liked to watch 
 
 them blow. 
 They made the nicest herd of cows for little girls 
 
 and boys 
 Who didn't have — and didn't need — a lot of costly 
 
 toys. 
 We hadn't any berries so we made sheep-sorrel pie ; 
 We sliced our pumpkins into strips and hung them 
 
 up to dry. 
 And in the winter they were fine, cooked with a 
 
 hunk of meat ; 
 Those were the days when anything seemed mighty 
 
 good to eat. 
 The sunsets out in Kansas were not clouded o'er with 
 
 smoke 
 And when we went to take a walk there was no dust 
 
 to choke ; 
 1 could name a hundred reasons, as I live those times 
 
 again, 
 
 "Why Kansas was a paradise for women folks and 
 
 men. 
 I ought to go back there once more, I thought I heard 
 
 you say ; 
 Why, sure, I'd like to do it — but I never moved away. 
 
 18 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Warrior's Farewell 
 
 Old Tommy Hawk, the Injun Chief, 
 
 Lay dying in his lodge ; 
 His squaw and children bore with grief 
 
 The blow they could not dodge. 
 He moved his lips, as if to speak 
 
 And beckoned with his hand ; 
 His voice was just a timid squeak 
 
 They scarce could understand. 
 But when their faces they inclined 
 
 To where the warrior lay. 
 Upon his couch, to death resigned, 
 
 They heard him faintly say : 
 
 "Fm headed for the hunting ground 
 
 Where all good Injuns go; 
 Where bootleg whiskey ne'er is found 
 
 And joys immortal flow. 
 I'm going to quit this vale of tears, 
 
 This land that gave me birth, 
 Whose plains are grazed by shorthorn steers 
 
 That cover all the earth. 
 I long to chase the nimble deer 
 
 As in the days gone by, 
 To bid farewell to every fear 
 
 And wipe my weeping eye. 
 
 "Ere since the white man came this way 
 
 I have not had a chance ; 
 He makes me raise alfalfa hay 
 
 And wear Prince Albert pants. 
 These rocky Oklahoma knolls 
 
 O'er which I used to climb 
 
 19 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Are punctured full of six-inch holes 
 
 To Mississippi lime. 
 From countless wells the black oil flows 
 
 That fills them to the brink 
 And smites my classic Roman nose 
 
 With heap ungodly stink. 
 
 "I do not crave the yellow gold 
 
 They paid me for my lease ; 
 I do not love the tanks that hold 
 
 Their million barrels of grease; 
 I care not for the motor car 
 
 With which the young braves sport, 
 For every time they roam afar 
 
 It lands them into court. 
 I've tried to love the paleface land, 
 
 Until it got my goat, 
 Where politicians grasp my hand 
 
 And bid me go and vote ; 
 Where cost of living takes my breath, 
 
 Where doubts and fears arise, 
 Where bandits scare me half to death 
 
 And danger lurks in pies ; 
 Where breakfast food is shredded 
 
 And doled out by the pound. 
 Farewell, vain world, I'm headed 
 
 For the Happy Hunting Ground." 
 
 20 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 
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 "I'm headed for the hunting ground where all good Injuns go; 
 
 where bootleg whiskey ne'er is found and 
 
 
 joys immortal flow." 
 
 21 
 
When Pa Goes Fishin' 
 
 My Papa takes some hooks an' string 
 
 An' goes a-fishin' ever' spring; 
 
 He gits some hoppers, bugs an' worms 
 
 An' things 'at creeps an' bites and squirms — 
 
 One crawled at me an' I was skeered, 
 
 But Pa, he aint a bit afeared. 
 
 He takes a box o' dirt or sand 
 
 And puts 'em in it with his hand. 
 
 Pa gets hisself a long, straight stick 
 An' hunts a place down by the crick 
 An' there he sets till nearly night 
 But hardly ever gits a bite. 
 
 One day I said to him I wish 
 'At he would catch a great, big fish. 
 Jest then his bobber bobbed around 
 And wiggle-waggled up and down, 
 But when he jerked it all he had 
 Was jest a ugly ol' craw-dad. 
 
 Another time he give a yank 
 
 An' lammed a catfish on the bank: 
 
 It tried its best to get back in 
 
 An' horned my Papa with its fin. 
 
 But still he belt it through the jaw 
 
 An' took a little piece o' straw 
 
 An' stuck it right into its head. 
 
 For that's the way to make 'em dead. 
 
 We took it home and skinned it nice 
 An' put it on some salt and ice. 
 That night I et a great big piece 
 'At Mama fried in bacon grease. 
 
 22 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 An Inalienable Right 
 
 Jim Jacobs read with much alarm 
 
 Of hyphenated skates 
 Who try to work their schemes for harm 
 
 On these United States. 
 Then in his patriotic breast 
 
 An angry passion rose, 
 So high it nearly split his vest 
 
 And tingled in his toes. 
 
 "These furriners," Jim Jacobs said, 
 
 "On mischief shore are bent; 
 They seem to have it in their head 
 
 To bust this gover'ment. 
 They leave their wives to do the chores 
 
 And pack in wood and cobs 
 While they infest our peaceful shores 
 
 And steal away our jobs. 
 
 "The men who guide the ship of state 
 
 Are ignorant as sin, 
 Or they would go and shut the gate 
 
 That lets these meddlers in. 
 Now, I am forced to pay a tax 
 
 That's bigger every year 
 Because I own some little shacks, 
 
 A work hoss or a steer. 
 Our children have to go to schools 
 
 And we must buy them books 
 Because we are a set of fools 
 
 Run by a set of crooks. 
 
 23 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 **The laws are made to help the rich 
 
 And keep the poor man down; 
 They even tell you where to hitch 
 
 When you drive into town. 
 And if you take a little nip 
 
 To chase dull care away 
 They grab the bottle off your hip 
 
 And lock you in the quay. 
 
 "The liberties our fathers prized, 
 
 For which they fit and died, 
 Have one by one been sacrificed — 
 
 Our goose is cut and dried. 
 The octopus has wrapped his claws 
 
 Around us tight and strong; 
 The country's cursed by cruel laws 
 
 And every thing is wrong. 
 
 "But people who were bred and born 
 
 Beneath the starry flag 
 Have earned the right to toot the horn 
 
 And masticate the rag. 
 So when it comes to jerkin' hide 
 
 From off the gover'ment, 
 We have no honors to divide 
 
 With any furrin' gent." 
 
 ENGLISH AS SHE IS NOT SPELLED 
 
 There once was a flying machine 
 That was run by a fellow named Grine ; 
 
 It went up so high 
 
 It was lost in the skigh 
 And since then has never been sine. 
 
 24 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Voices of the Night 
 
 Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne 
 
 Had cast her mantle like an old, black sheepskin over 
 
 all the earth ; 
 The watch-dog lay beneath the porch and gnawed a 
 
 bone, 
 The tired farmer snored for all that he was worth. 
 
 High on a limb the wide-eyed owlet sat and 
 
 screeched, 
 Although his high, falsetto voice was out of tune. 
 And shrieked in shivering, ghostly accents till it 
 
 reached 
 Up to the cold, refulgent, round-faced moon. 
 
 Upon the shore that lined the Verdi's peaceful way 
 
 A solitary bullfrog droned his sullen note. 
 
 As if the bugs and critters he had eaten through the 
 
 day. 
 Resentful like, were calling from his throat. 
 
 The playful pollywog doth now produce encircling 
 
 rings, 
 That on the river's rugged shore in angry billows 
 
 break; 
 Anon the speckled rooster cranes his neck and flaps 
 
 his wings 
 And bids the slumb'ring, snoozing, sleepy earth 
 
 awake. 
 
 25 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Cadmus and Europa 
 
 The dragon's teeth that Cadmus sowed on 
 Thebes' classic site produced an army all equipped 
 to rush into a fight and had he not succeeded well 
 and put the riot down there would have been nobody 
 left to help him build the towm. A youth whose 
 name was Cadmus lived in Asia, far away; he had a 
 little sister, so the Grecian legends say. Europa was 
 the maiden's name and she was pretty, too, her hair 
 was long and curly and her eyes were lovely blue. 
 The gods looked down upon her and were jealous of 
 her charm and so they sent a bull that way to work a 
 scheme for harm. Europa climbed upon its back, 
 like any kid at play, when lo, the creature ducked its 
 head and carried her away, and that is all we know 
 for sure about the little lass except that sailors out 
 at sea saw beast and rider pass. Tradition says, how- 
 ever, that she reached the western shore and they 
 called the country Europe, for the maid they saw no 
 more. This bull con game grieved Cadmus much 
 and sent him on a quest that lasted many weary years 
 with little sleep or rest, and while he never found 
 the girl, as back and forth he strayed, the country 
 suited him so well he took a claim and stayed. But 
 Cadmus had to live alone, nobody else was there, and 
 he was often in the dumps and filled with sad de- 
 spair. He longed to do some noble deed to make 
 himself a name but in the wilderness alone he had no 
 chance for fame. One day he met a dragon and it 
 gave him quite a fright but he drew his trusty weapon 
 and he killed it in the fight, which pleased the gods 
 immensely and near to him they drew and they gave 
 
 26 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 him some instructions as to what he ought to do. 
 They bade him pull the dragon's teeth and sow them 
 all around and soon a horde of fighting men were 
 springing from the ground and had he not succeeded 
 well and stopped the fracas then his plans for build- 
 ing Thebes would have failed for lack of men. Long 
 centuries have rolled around since Cadmus went 
 away but Europe well might use him if he should re- 
 turn today. It seems that lately some one else has 
 sown another crop of dragon's teeth and raised a 
 muss that's awful hard to stop. 
 
 THE MELANCHOLY DAYS 
 
 The pools are fringed about with ice, 
 
 A bluish tint is on my nose ; 
 
 I'm digging now to raise the price 
 
 Of heavy winter underclothes. 
 
 The leaves have fallen from the trees, 
 
 They lie in heaps upon the ground; 
 
 An achey pain shoots through my knees; 
 
 My overcoat cannot be found. 
 
 The ice man looks so sad and meek, 
 
 On him I do not deign to smile. 
 
 That frozen chunk I bought last week 
 
 I think will last me quite awhile. 
 
 But sad to say, when I begin 
 
 To see my ice bill shrink, alas! 
 
 I have to put the heater in 
 
 And pay just twice as much for gas. 
 
 27 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Godiva Up To Date 
 
 Oh, Tennyson, immortal bard! 
 I read your poems by the yard. 
 And while I prize them at their worth, 
 I think if you were back on earth 
 And saw the clothes the women wear 
 You'd likely be compelled to swear 
 That it was genius misapplied, 
 When you composed Godiva's Ride. 
 
 Your heroine rode through the town 
 And didn't even wear a gown. 
 But golden tresses, rightly placed. 
 Are thicker than a seemore waist; 
 And had the men exposed an eye 
 As she was calmly riding by 
 One leg was all they could have seen 
 For Dobbin's hulk was in between; 
 But now, when we look anywhere, 
 'Tis nothing strange to see a pair. 
 And Peeping Tom — unlucky soul — 
 Would not have bored an auger hole 
 And rubbered through it from his den. 
 Had he lived now instead of then. 
 
 Godiva rode the taxes down 
 In Coventry, that ancient town; 
 But now it's just the other way, 
 Our bills are higher every day. 
 In summer heat or winter frosts, 
 The less they wear, the more it costs. 
 
 28 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Weather Grouch 
 
 One day I heard a fellow cussin' Kansas ; 
 
 The weather at that time was somewhat dry. 
 
 He was stringin' out profanity by stanzas 
 
 And swearin' by the ridge-pole of the sky 
 
 That there never was a time in all her hist'ry 
 
 When the state was damp enough for man's abode, 
 
 And to him it was the deepest kind of myst'ry 
 
 Why folks would live where nothin' ever growed. 
 
 I met that same old grouch some two weeks after 
 
 When every thing was soaking in the rain, 
 
 When all the world was filled with song and 
 
 laughter. 
 And found that he had altered his refrain. 
 Of course he still was chawin' and a-cussin'. 
 For he was one you couldn't satisfy. 
 This time it was a rainin' and a mussin' 
 When he preferred to have it clear and dry. 
 He said in all his forty years of livin' 
 In Kansas he had never failed on grain ; 
 But he had a very definite misgivin' 
 He was goin' to lose his crop because of rain. 
 For it always het his wheat before he thrashed it 
 And sp'iled his corn before he shucked his crop. 
 But his story made me tired as he rehashed it 
 And I bade him go and tumble in the slop. 
 
 29 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Small Potatoes 
 
 When the Autumn winds are sweeping 
 And the cold chills come a-creeping 
 Up my back-bone and my wish-bone and my funny- 
 bone and all, 
 Then to me there comes a question, 
 Just a sort of slight suggestion : 
 "Where are all your summer wages; what have you 
 laid up for fall?" 
 
 Then I say, "O, beg your pardon, 
 I have quite a bit of garden." 
 And I straightway sail toward it with my tater fork 
 and hoe ; 
 I explore the ground for tubers 
 And I search my patch for goobers, 
 But on close investigation I perceive they did not 
 grow. 
 
 Vines and stalks are there in plenty, 
 But there is not one in twenty 
 That produced a single thing to eat, the summer was 
 so dry ; 
 True, those later inundations 
 Raised a crop of indications. 
 But I find there's nothing to them and I sadly pass 
 them by. 
 
 Then should I be disappointed — 
 Let my feelings come unjointed? 
 No, for in my observations I have always found it so. 
 
 30 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 This big world has many people 
 Who run all to stalk and sepal, 
 Bright green leaves and flowery petals, anything to 
 make a show. 
 
 Like my rows of bum potatoes 
 And my crop of fake tomatoes. 
 When you make a close inspection, you are filled 
 with deep disgust. 
 After calm investigating. 
 After you have got their rating. 
 You have found them small potatoes, buried 'neath 
 the clods and dust. 
 
 KATE BENDER DEAD AGAIN 
 
 My eyes are brimming o'er with tears 
 
 My heart is full of woe ; 
 An old time friend went up the flume 
 
 A day or two ago. 
 Kate Bender was this maiden's name, 
 
 You've heard it o'er and o'er; 
 The hand of death has laid her low 
 
 A dozen times before. 
 I know I should not weep and wail 
 
 Nor shed the briny tear. 
 For Katy will come back to earth 
 
 And die again next year. 
 
 31 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Striking It Rich 
 
 He used to wear patched overalls and eat the plain- 
 est fare, 
 
 His horses and his cattle were mostly bones and hair ; 
 
 He had a little mortg:affed farm but could not make 
 it pay 
 
 Because his land would not produce sufficient corn 
 and hay. 
 
 At last, when hope herself had fled, he gave a drill- 
 er's lease 
 
 And soon was wading through a stream of black and 
 fragrant grease. 
 
 He traded off his crowbaits and his skinny sow and 
 pigs 
 
 And filled his lots and hog pens with a dozen drill- 
 ing rigs. 
 
 He sold his shackly road cart and bought a motor 
 
 car. 
 He wandered over Europe and he stopped in 
 
 Zanzibar ; 
 He traveled all about the earth by air and sea and 
 
 land, 
 From Greenland's icy mountain to India's coral 
 
 strand. 
 
 The while his nifty little yacht across the ocean 
 
 steams. 
 His hours are filled with peacefulness and in his 
 
 nightly dreams 
 He floats to some enchanted isle, where comes no 
 
 thought of toil, 
 Within an atmsophere of gas, upon a sea of oil. 
 
 32 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 He traded off his crowbaits and his 
 
 skinny sow and pigs, and filled his 
 
 lots and hog pens with a 
 
 dozen drilling rigs. 
 
 83 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 When the Worm Turned 
 
 I spaded up the garden in the early days of 
 spring and I planted it to celery and beets and I 
 thought the cost of living to the bottom I would bring 
 when the time was ripe for every kind of eats. But 
 the chickens saw me toiling with the pitchfork and 
 the hoe and the rooster winked and beckoned to the 
 hens and for forty blocks around me they came 
 marching in a row from the stables and the poultry 
 house and pens. Oh, they landed in that garden like 
 a fierce, avenging sprite that the fantod or the jim- 
 jam oft begets and they dug from early morning till 
 the sun went down at night and they filled the air 
 with dirt and onion sets. With an eye to things 
 esthetic, I went out upon the lawn and I planted 
 hollyhock and buttercup but my heart was filled with 
 longing ere I saw another dawn for the life-blood of 
 my neighbor's brindle pup. He had issued invita- 
 tions to the other dogs in town and they gathered in 
 the gloaming by the score and they tramped my 
 johnny-jump-ups and my bouncing-betties down and 
 they left me feeling mighty sad and sore. Then I 
 went to seeing crimson and I grabbed my blunderbuss 
 that I'd loaded full of buckshot for the day when I 
 feared that Kaiser William might be aching for a 
 fuss with a real, fighting, Yankee Doodle jay. When 
 the twilight fell at even on that scene of bloody strife 
 there were chicken guts and feathers everywhere; 
 of a dozen curs that lately had been brimming o'er 
 with life there was nothing left but license tags and 
 hair. 
 
 34 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Damon and Pythias 
 
 When Damon was condemned to die 
 
 'Twas Pythias begged his life 
 
 And got for him a respite brief 
 
 To see his kids and wife, 
 
 Remained as hostage for his friend, 
 
 Who finally returned 
 
 And thus Old Dionysius, king, 
 
 A wondrous lesson learned. 
 
 They say the test of faithfulness 
 
 The monarch saw that day 
 
 Dispelled his hate and he allowed 
 
 The friends to go their way. 
 
 I question not the friendship 
 
 Of those men of Syracuse, 
 
 Perhaps you think it proven 
 
 So I'll not attack your views; 
 
 But evidence is lacking, 
 
 Quite competent, I deem. 
 
 To prove that their affection 
 
 For each other was supreme. 
 
 Did Pythias and Damon live 
 
 As neighbors on the street? 
 
 And did their wives belong to clubs 
 
 That tat and talk and eat? 
 
 Did Damon have a garden 
 
 And did Pythias have a hen 
 
 Which liked to scratch and would not stay 
 
 Within a coop or pen? 
 
 Could Damon's car run faster 
 
 Than his neighbor's Ford could go? 
 
 Were their children ever rivals 
 
 In a Better Babies show? 
 
 If affirmatory answers 
 
 To these questions are assigned 
 
 Then I'll concede their friendship 
 
 Was the everlasting kind. 
 
 35 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Tell the Swiss Patriot 
 
 In Switzerland there once did dwell 
 A man whose name was William Tell. 
 He was a hero in the chase, 
 In war he always set the pace. 
 A crossbow was his lengthy suit 
 And when there was a turkey shoot 
 He always managed to be there 
 And carry off the lion's share. 
 
 As time went by fair Switzerland 
 Was pillaged by an Austrian band. 
 Old Gessler was a despot sour 
 And firmly held the reins of power. 
 
 The tyrant had a new plug hat, 
 
 The rim was stiff, the crown was flat; 
 
 It was the idol of his soul 
 
 And so he set it on a pole 
 
 And said to every sturdy Swiss : 
 
 "You'll have to stop and kneel to this." 
 
 When Tell came moseying along 
 And saw the supplicating throng. 
 He passed them by with haughty sneer, 
 Which got old Gessler on his ear. 
 And for this act of proud disdain 
 The tyrant bound him with a chain 
 And called the headsman with his knife 
 To terminate our hero's life. 
 
 But just to have some fun with Bill, 
 He planned a way to test his skill ; 
 And so he took a little lad. 
 The only child the archer had. 
 And put an apple on his head 
 Then unto William gruffly said : 
 
 36 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 "I've often heard that thou canst shoot; 
 So blaze away at yonder fruit 
 And if thou hit'st it fair and square 
 And dost not touch a single hair 
 I'll loose thy bonds and set the free 
 For all thou wert so fresh with me." 
 
 Then Tell, with calm and steady eye, 
 Pulled up and let the arrow fly 
 And smote the apple through the core 
 And earned his liberty once more. 
 
 He almost fainted with the test 
 And when his friends unhooked his vest, 
 Out from its folds an arrow slid 
 Which he averred that he had hid. 
 The tyrant's worthless life to take 
 If fear had made his muscles quake 
 And he had missed the apple red 
 And shot his little boy instead. 
 
 This made Old Gessler awful sore 
 And Tell was put in chains once more 
 And locked within a prison old 
 Whose walls were damp and dark and cold. 
 
 One day the tyrant wished to take 
 A little journey o'er the lake ; 
 He needed some good man to row 
 And so he made his prisoner go. 
 
 A storm came on, the boat upset 
 And all the crew got very wet. 
 Tell was the first to swim to land ; 
 He seized a crossbow close at hand 
 And shot Old Gessler in the head 
 Till he was most extremely dead. 
 And all the people heard with glee 
 That Switzerland at last was free. 
 
 37 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Down Where They Raise 'Em 
 
 I met an Oklahoma lad, he was eight years old, he 
 
 said; 
 His eyes were blue, his face was sad, his hair was 
 
 tawny red. 
 I marveled much that I should meet, in such a region 
 
 wild, 
 A lad so innocent and sweet as this peculiar child. 
 
 "Whence goest thou, my little man?" I asked, and he 
 
 replied : 
 "I'm huntin' for my brother Dan to see if he has died. 
 Dan robbed a bank at Hoolagoo and as he turned and 
 
 fled 
 A marshal grabbed a thirty two and pumped him full 
 
 of lead. 
 
 "My dad and mam are gone to view them hang my 
 
 brother Bill 
 Because he shot a revenoo for snoopin' round his still, 
 And Pete and Tom are down the track a-holdin' up 
 
 a train ; 
 I wisht that they would hurry back, looks like it's 
 
 goin' to rain. 
 
 "My sisters Annabel and May left home this after- 
 noon; 
 
 They took my leaden knucks away, my pewter bowl 
 and spoon. 
 
 They had a copper pot and cup and counterfeiter's 
 mould ; 
 
 I guess they're goin' to melt 'em up and coin 'em into 
 gold. 
 
 "They left me all alone at home and I am most afraid 
 So I set out afar to roam and hither have I strayed. 
 I guess I better hit the track ; I'm glad I met you, Boss. 
 I betcha I wont hoof it back if I can steal a hoss." 
 
 38 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Return of the Bustle 
 
 How dear to my heart is the hump of the bustle, 
 As mem'ries of childhood recall it again. 
 Its movement kept time to the silken skirt's rustle 
 And furnished an optical treat for the men. 
 The bustle, the bustle, the fat, bobbing bustle 
 That stuck out behind like a big, healthy wen. 
 
 The wide-spreading bustle they say is returning 
 And soon will be with us, our vision to cheer, 
 To gladden the hearts that so long have been yearn- 
 ing 
 And looking for old-fashioned things to appear. 
 The bustle, the bustle, let's get up and hustle 
 And welcome the first one we see drawing near. 
 
 The bustle of old, like the hump of a camel. 
 Adorned the fair maiden, her charms to enhance ; 
 But the new one hangs down, all her movements to 
 
 trammel 
 Like slack in the seat of a big pair of pants. 
 But so it's a bustle, why care we a cussel? 
 Let joy be uncorked and go on with the dance. 
 
 A RESTAURANT TRAGERY 
 
 An eating house waiter named Lou 
 Let go of a dish of hot stou. 
 
 Which fell on a guest 
 
 And spoiled his vuest. 
 So the hasher was forced to skiddou. 
 
 39 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 A Western Romance 
 
 Bill Erp, the broncho buster, 
 Was a very valiant lad ; 
 A pair of buckskin trousers 
 Were all the pants he had. 
 
 Bill went to town one evening, 
 A pint of booze to get. 
 Which made him fall into the creek 
 And got him very wet. 
 
 Now, when his pants began to dry. 
 The waistband tighter grew 
 And in the same proportion, 
 The legs grew shorter, too. 
 
 So Bill took off his breeches 
 
 And hung them on a limb, 
 
 Then watched them slowly fade away 
 
 Amid the twilight dim. 
 
 All night they shrunk while Bill lay drunk 
 
 And got so very small 
 
 That when he woke next morning 
 
 He had no pants at all. 
 
 Bill rode into the camp that day 
 With heart extremely sad 
 Because the buckskin trousers 
 Were all the pants he had. 
 
 40 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Bill Erp, the broncho buster, was a very valiant lad; 
 
 a pair of buckskin trousers were all 
 
 the pants he had. 
 
 41 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Limit of Patience 
 
 An altruistic fellow 
 
 Is our good old Uncle Sam; 
 
 His fame is known throughout the earth 
 
 From Cuba to Siam. 
 
 He would spike the bristling cannon 
 
 If he only had a chance 
 
 And instruct the King of Seboo 
 
 In the art of wearing pants. 
 
 He's the very cream of patience 
 
 If things are going right 
 
 But when some one pulls his whiskers 
 
 He is mighty apt to fight. 
 
 He would feed the hungry millions 
 
 With his wealth of golden grain 
 
 And kid them when their hearts are sore 
 
 Until they smile again. 
 
 If they only tell their troubles 
 
 And patiently will wait, 
 
 We will rally to their rescue 
 
 While our Uncle pays the freight. 
 
 There's room for all the poor of earth 
 
 Within his ample lap, 
 
 But when some one treads his bunions 
 
 He is mighty prone to scrap. 
 
 He succored hungry Belgium 
 Whose land was torn by war, 
 He fought the epizootic 
 On the shores of Labrador, 
 He sent his Christmas turkeys 
 To the folks in Guadeloupe 
 
 42 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 To save our missionaries 
 
 When the heathen yearned for soup. 
 
 He's as peaceful as a Quaker 
 
 And detests the battle's din 
 
 But he'll fight his weight in wildcats 
 
 When the wildcat rubs it in. 
 
 His scholars and his statesmen 
 Have worked from day to day 
 To educate us in the art 
 Of giving things away ; 
 Till we cut our daily rations 
 To hominy and prunes 
 And sent our eggs and bacon 
 To the starving Kameroons. 
 But when some husky bully 
 Starts in to run a bluff 
 He finds our Uncle isn't all 
 The tender-hearted stuff. 
 
 THE CALL OF DUTY 
 
 It costs us sixteen million plunks, 
 
 The college experts say 
 For insects that infest our bunks 
 
 And those that spoil our hay. 
 These figures are a sad surprise 
 
 Our hopes have fallen flat; 
 All season long we swatted flies 
 
 And batted at the rat. 
 It seems there is no rest at all 
 
 Vouchsafed to mortal plug 
 For now the battle cry rings out: 
 
 "Go forth and slug the bug!" 
 
 43 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Who Are the Heathen? 
 
 The heathen down in Mandalay 
 
 Are very ignorant they say 
 
 And every year a mission band 
 
 Sets out for India's coral strand ; 
 
 While we at home must work and pray 
 
 And garner cash to send away 
 
 To free the folks who long have lain, 
 
 Bound down by superstition's chain. 
 
 One day, as down the street I went, 
 
 I noticed in a dinky tent 
 
 A dusky, dirty looking pair, 
 
 With snaky coils of raven hair. 
 
 With hardware hanging in their ears. 
 
 Who called themselves the Hindoo Seers. 
 
 And while I watched, behold, there came 
 
 The sad and silly, halt and lame. 
 
 The son and daughter, man and wife, 
 
 From all the avenues of life. 
 
 Who dug the money from their jeans 
 
 That should have gone for pork and beans; 
 
 For they imagined — foolish guys — 
 
 Those tin-horn prophets very wise 
 
 And thought by paying fifty cents 
 
 To get a line upon the hence. 
 
 And some there were who shed big tears 
 O'er loved ones, missing many years. 
 And others spoke of divers things 
 Like family spats and wedding rings; 
 Some asked the time to wean their pigs 
 And where to set their drilling rigs 
 And got their answers, cut and dried, 
 Then turned away quite satisfied. 
 
 44 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The heathen down on Ganges' bank 
 May have some notions crude and rank 
 And it's all right to work and pray 
 And point him to the better way. 
 But while we want to treat him kind 
 And brighten his benighted mind, 
 Let's not forget the folks at home 
 Who harbor bats within their dome, 
 Who think an Oriental mutt 
 Who smears his mouth with betel nut; 
 Whose nimble back is often bent 
 To gods of reinforced cement, 
 Beyond this mortal vale can look 
 And read the future like a book. 
 
 OUT OF A JOB 
 
 The hobo paused before my door 
 
 And begged a bite to eat; 
 
 His cap was on wrong side before, 
 
 His shoes o'erflowed with feet. 
 
 "Whence all this misery?" I cried, 
 
 "Why dost thou hit the pike?" 
 
 He said "My goose is cut and dried, 
 
 Our union's on a strike." 
 
 "And what's your business, gentle sir?" 
 
 His answer made me laugh. 
 
 Quoth he, "I am a lineman for 
 
 A wireless telegraph." 
 
 45 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Modern Robin Hood 
 
 In the days of old there were robbers bold 
 
 Who lived in a forest deep; 
 In a coat of mail with a tin-plate tail 
 
 They would safely go to sleep. 
 
 Their lives were free as a bumble bee 
 
 And they sang away all care, 
 They drank rich wines and they cut up shines 
 
 And they knew not a thrill of fear. 
 
 They robbed the lads with the surplus skads 
 And gave to the ones who were poor, 
 
 They rescued maids from the donjon's shades 
 And they took them home once more. 
 
 In these latter days, with our modern ways 
 
 A bandit has little show; 
 As he makes his haul a leaden ball 
 
 Is apt to lay him low. 
 
 In the days gone by he winked his eye 
 As he dodged the archer's skill 
 
 And his cast steel pants would safely glance 
 The missies that sought to kill. 
 
 Now the sleuths and the cops are thick as hops 
 And they chase him around for sport ; 
 
 His bean they slug and his face they mug 
 And they hustle him into court. 
 
 Then he goes to the pen with other men 
 
 O'er his ruined life to repine 
 And for ninety years weeps bitter tears 
 
 As he helps make binder twine. 
 
 46 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Neversweat 
 
 His health is good, his limbs are strong, 
 His voice is like a dinner gong, 
 He lifts a half a ton with ease 
 And he can eat a hoop of cheese. 
 But strange to say he will not work 
 Because he's lazy as a Turk. 
 
 At digging wells or splitting wood 
 He'd do the world a lot of good, 
 But something whispers to this chap 
 That some day he will strike a snap ; 
 And so he loafs the whole day through 
 And nothing useful will he do, 
 Because he fears to soil his shirt 
 Or get his fingers in the dirt. 
 
 When first I met this man of ease 
 He had a rig for shelling peas, 
 But when he found no great demand 
 For such a jim-crack in the land 
 He organized a minstrel troupe 
 That dealt old jokes and lived on soup 
 And tried the people's joys to drown 
 Until they ran him out of town. 
 
 A dozen peaceful days passed o'er 
 Before I saw him any more ; 
 And then he came, imploring me 
 To join the B. of X. Y. Z., 
 A lodge that never asked for dues 
 And fed its members oyster stews 
 And paid a hundred dollars gold 
 For every time you caught a cold. 
 
 47 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 He platted town lots by the score, 
 On hillside rough and sandy shore, 
 But pulled his stakes and heaved a sigh 
 When no one came that way to buy. 
 He found a cure for roupy geese 
 And ran for justice of the peace. 
 But got a seat among the goats 
 And lost by forty thousand votes. 
 
 He always sports the best of clothes. 
 Though where he gets them no one knows. 
 He never tries to pay a debt 
 And is a patient Neversweat. 
 'Tis useless to repeat his name 
 Because you know him, just the same. 
 Search any town where'er you will. 
 You'll find a chap who fills the bill. 
 
 THE SUMMER APPETITE 
 
 There is nothing on earth that is half so capricious 
 
 As the old summer time appetite ; 
 One day a man's stomach will act quite seditious 
 
 If he dares to take only a bite. 
 And the next day his food he so eagerly seizes 
 
 He cannot stop eating at all; 
 If shut in a house that was made of brick cheeses 
 
 He would eat a hole right through the wall. 
 
 48 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Balak and Baalam 
 
 Balak was king of the Moabites and Baalam was 
 his seer. The land was filled with Israelites and his 
 heart was filled with fear. So Balak said to Baalam: 
 "Go, saddle up old Jack and arm yourself with cuss 
 words, to drive the sheenies back. We do not want 
 them in our midst to peddle hand-me-downs and build 
 their wretched hock shops in all our pretty towns." 
 
 The prophet started out to do his errand for the 
 king, but on the way there happened a most peculiar 
 thing; for as he slowly plodded through a rugged 
 mountain pass, an angel stood before them and 
 frightened Baalam's ass. 
 
 Then Baalam drew his trusty sword and hit the 
 beast a rap and stuck his feet into its flanks and wild- 
 ly yelled "Giddap!" The donkey raised its head 
 aloft, as if it fain would bray and Baalam almost 
 fainted when he heard it plainly say: 
 
 "I am nothing but a jackass, while you are very 
 wise ; but you'll have to give me credit for the keenest 
 pair of eyes. If you could see what I can see out 
 yonder in the path, I guess you'd be so mollified that 
 you would curb your wrath. If you don't know any 
 better than to act in such a style I think you ought to 
 play the mule and let me ride awhile." 
 
 49 
 
Wasted Opportunities 
 
 When I was but a little lad 
 
 I used to hate to hear my Dad, 
 
 Who oft would break upon my snores 
 
 With some remark about the chores, 
 
 Would bid me rise and cuff the mule 
 
 Before 'twas time to go to school. 
 
 To hear that word would make me squirm, 
 It was a most unwelcome term ; 
 I longed to see the day appear 
 When I should reach my major year. 
 When all my school days would be o'er 
 And dreary lessons come no more. 
 
 While others wrote upon the board : 
 *'The pen is greater than the sword," 
 "The golden hours we must not waste 
 But seize the moments as they haste 
 Along the fleeting shores of time," 
 Upon the seat I used to climb 
 And slap a gob of yellow mud 
 Against the ceiling with a thud. 
 
 And when the teacher's back was turned 
 I let my lessons go unlearned 
 And when she called us to recite 
 And tell the cause of day and night, 
 Or figure out how many cents 
 It took to build a yard of fence, 
 Or parse a noun or spell a word 
 I always blundered most absurd. 
 
 But I have seen the world since then 
 And met with educated men 
 
 50 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Who wear their gold encircled specs 
 And pay their bills with mammoth checks 
 And own an interest in the bank; 
 While I, with stomach weak and lank, 
 Still wonder where I'll get the cash 
 To buy myself a plate of hash. 
 
 O, barefoot boy, with cheek of tan. 
 Improve the moments while you can 
 And fritter not the hours away, 
 But learn your lessons well each day. 
 For if you grit you teeth and try 
 Success will greet you by and by. 
 
 I used to hate to hear my Dad, who oft would 
 
 break upon my snores and make remarks 
 
 about the chores. 
 
 51 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Propriety in Dress 
 
 Oh, father is a careless wight, 
 A sloven wight is he ; 
 He sat out in the yard one night 
 Beneath the greenwood tree. 
 
 And mother's feelings much were hurt. 
 
 The family disgraced, 
 
 For naught except an undershirt 
 
 He wore above the waist. 
 
 Sufficient collar wasn't there 
 To hide his manly chest 
 And something like an inch of hair 
 Was showing on his breast. 
 
 But father has no modesty. 
 As you can plainly see, 
 To clothe himself so scantily 
 And sit beneath the tree. 
 
 When sister, charming little elf, 
 Sits out beneath the tree — 
 Well, I'd incriminate myself 
 To tell what you can see. 
 
 To say her dress is much too low 
 As well as much too high 
 Is quite a paradox, I know, 
 And may sound like a lie. 
 
 The hem is just about so high 
 And flaps her knees about. 
 Her bodice proves an alibi 
 And leaves her thorax out; 
 
 62 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 And when upon parade she goes 
 Along the village street 
 She has to walk upon her toes 
 Instead of on her feet. 
 
 But mother, while she does her bit 
 As keeper of the flock, 
 Is never known to throw a fit 
 Because of sister's frock. 
 
 JOYS OF SPRING 
 
 O, let us be gay for the spring is now here. 
 
 With its birds and its bees and its can of bock beer. 
 
 Its warmth and its sunshine so boundless and free, 
 
 Its sarsaparilla and sassafras tea. 
 
 I fancy I see, 'mid the emerald bowers, 
 
 A bevy of maidens out gathering flowers, 
 
 Until I discern that those bright fairy queens 
 
 Are filling a basket with turnip-top greens. 
 
 The wealth of the springtime now f eedeth my soul 
 
 Like a hired man is fed from a full gravy bowl ; 
 
 'Tis then that I love to stroll out in the glade 
 
 And bask in the willow tree's beautiful shade, 
 
 Or calmly repose on the flat of my back 
 
 And list to the mule whacker patiently whack. 
 
 53 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 When Zekiel Played the Fiddle 
 
 I went down town the other night and noticed on the 
 
 street 
 That folks was all excited and a-workin' of their feet ; 
 I wondered what had happened to call out such a 
 
 throng 
 And so I fell in at the rear and sorter moped along. 
 I learnt from scraps of language that they dropped 
 
 along the way 
 That they was goin' down to hear a violinist play. 
 The price was pretty stiff for me — a dollar and a 
 
 half— 
 But I hadn't heard no fiddlin' since Brindle was a 
 
 calf, 
 So I marched in at the doorway and found a cush- 
 ioned cheer, 
 Away down by the platform where I could see and 
 
 hear. 
 
 When the curtain riz a feller, with a shock of 
 
 fuzzy hair. 
 Come out and made a little bow and acted mighty 
 
 quare. 
 And his manager informed us that the concert would 
 
 begin 
 And the party with the sneezy name would play the 
 
 violin. 
 I set there half an hour and a thinkin' purty soon 
 That he'd surely give us somethin' when he got the 
 
 thing in tune. 
 Until the folks begin to cheer and clap their hands 
 
 and smile, 
 Then I realized the concert had been goin' quite 
 
 awhile. 
 
 54 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Well, if that is violinin', you are welcome to my 
 
 share ; 
 It was nothin' like the fiddlin' that was done by 
 
 Zekiel Ware. 
 Zeke used to be my neighbor, back thar in Tennessee 
 And he dealt the kind of music that was melody to 
 
 me. 
 "The Irish Washerwoman," he could saw to beat 
 
 the band, 
 And the one alDOut the taters that growed in "Sandy 
 
 Land"; 
 He was shore a virtuoso on "The Gals of Arkansaw" 
 And could make the ceilin' tremble playin' "Turkey 
 
 In The Straw." 
 
 If that gourd got out of kilter he would take it 'twixt 
 his legs 
 
 And twist and spit tobacker juice upon the wooden 
 pegs 
 
 And tease it with the hoss-hair bow across the cat- 
 gut string, 
 
 Till it give out strains harmonyus like the angels 
 when they sing; 
 
 And the shell that held this soul of mine would bust 
 right down the middle 
 
 And let it rise and fly away, when Zekiel played the 
 fiddle. 
 
 THE LAST OF TIM 
 
 We are mourning for Tim 
 
 Who went out to swim, 
 Where the river ran close to the shore ; 
 
 The water was damp 
 
 And it gave him a cramp. 
 And he'll never come back any more. 
 
 55 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 When Rover Runned Away 
 
 Our ol' dog Rover's runned away; 
 We aint saw him since yisterday. 
 He alius used to stand an' wait 
 To meet me at the little gate 
 When I got home from school at night ; 
 An' now it don't seem hardly right 
 'Cause he don't come an' wag his tail 
 An' sniff around my dinner pail 
 An' beg me for a scrap of bread — 
 Pa says he's fraid 01' Rover's dead. 
 
 I git so 'fraid when it is dark, 
 
 'Cause I know he wont growl or bark 
 
 If things come round the place at night 
 
 Or ever' thing don't go jist right. 
 
 We had him seven years an' more 
 
 An' he aint done that way before. 
 
 He had the softest kind o' bed, 
 I made for him out in the shed ; 
 It's gunny sacks, with lots o' hay — 
 An' now he's went an' runned away. 
 It might'a'been so lonesome, though, 
 That he jist thought he'd rather go 
 Where he could sleep with other dogs 
 Instid o' chickens, calves an' hogs. 
 
 I got a quarter, what I earned 
 For havin' all my lessons learned, 
 An' I would give it, ever' cent. 
 If I could know jist where he went. 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 It's ffittin' dark all out o' doors, 
 Ma says it's time to do my chores 
 I'm 'fraid to go an' hunt the cow — 
 O' lookee ! There comes Rover now ! ! 
 
 He alius used to stand an' wait to meet me at the little gate, 
 when I got home from school at night. 
 
 57 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 A Perverted Invention 
 
 The war planes nov/ are flying o'er the warm 
 Aegean Sea for the Greeks have been inveigled in the 
 mighty jamboree and I wonder, as I ponder, what old 
 Daedalus would say, the way his great invention now 
 is used to maim and slay. Of course you've heard of 
 Daedalus, the carpenter of old ; he used to carp in 
 Athens and the way the tale is told his fame had 
 spread till Minos, who was kinging down in Crete, 
 submitted plans and details for an engineering feat. 
 A critter called the Minotaur was worrying the king, 
 who couldn't think of any way to subjugate the 
 thing; a cross between a nightmare and a wild-eyed 
 wallaloo throughout the little island was the real 
 bugaboo. It had fierce teeth and ugly claws and 
 horns upon its tail, and Minos sent for Daedalus to 
 build a monster jail. The workman took his little 
 son, whose name was Icarus, to hand up nails and 
 lumber and juggle bench and truss, and built a 
 mighty Labrynth that wound so far about that sud- 
 denly he found himself unable to get out. But 
 Daedalus, the genius, was a most resourceful cuss, so 
 he built some flying doodads for himself and Icarus 
 and soon they had ascended from that prison, grim 
 and bare, and were trying out their prowess doing 
 flipflops in the air. But Icarus was venturesome as 
 most of boys will be and flew his little air craft above 
 the Grecian sea. The wings were fastened on with 
 wax which melted in the sun and he had a tragic 
 ending to his frolic and his fun. Old Daedalus was 
 saddened till he pined his life away, but probably 
 it's just as well he is not here today. He surely would 
 be mortified and filled with grief again to see his 
 great invention used to swat his fellow-men. 
 
 58 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Would-Be Tax Dodger 
 
 A self important gentleman one evening in the spring 
 Upon a farm house doorbell most earnestly did ring; 
 The good man met him with a smile and bade him 
 
 enter in 
 And with his prompt acceptance their acquaintance 
 
 did begin. 
 
 Then, as the conversation for a moment seemed to 
 
 lag, 
 The stranger said : "In yonder field I see a sorrel 
 
 nag. 
 I pray thee tell me is he sound of wind and limb 
 
 and eye 
 And what's the price that you would ask of one who 
 
 came to buy?" 
 
 The farmer thought: "Now here's the chap who's 
 
 lookin' up the facts 
 Pertainin' to the property on which I'm payin' tax. 
 And if I say that Roger K. is worth two hundred 
 
 straight 
 They'll soak me worse than ever to run this durned 
 
 old state." 
 
 He cleared his throat and scratched his head, then 
 
 spat upon the hearth 
 And said : "You asked me, did you, what that sorrel 
 
 hoss is worth ? 
 It is a puzzling question and I pause to answer you ; 
 That's the hoss my father gave me when this country 
 
 all was new. 
 I keep him as a relic of the day that's past and gone ; 
 It's been a dozen years since he has had the harness 
 
 on. 
 
 59 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 That spavin on his off hind leg unfits him for the 
 
 plow 
 And when it comes to action, he's as awkward as a 
 
 cow. 
 He stutters when he paces and he stammers when he 
 
 trots 
 And he's always got the colic or the stringhalt or the 
 
 bots— " 
 
 "Enough! Enough!" the stranger cried, and sadly 
 
 shook his head. 
 "My fondest aspirations they are busted now and 
 
 dead. 
 I have four hundred dollars stowed away here in 
 
 my pants 
 Which I longed to hand you for him had you given 
 
 me a chance. 
 I have a horse that matches him from muzzle down 
 
 to heel 
 And if your steed was young and sound we sure 
 
 would make a deal. 
 
 "But while I'm disappointed I'll try not to complain ; 
 I have found the man Diogenes once sought for all 
 
 in vain. 
 You are an honest yeoman, I am very proud to say, 
 I'm delighted to have met you and now I'll say good 
 
 day." 
 
 The visitor departed and the farmer stood transfixed ; 
 The thoughts that trooped across his brain were very 
 
 sadly mixed. 
 He sought the evening twilight and he roundly railed 
 
 at fate 
 And kicked about a dozen slats from off the garden 
 
 gate. 
 
 60 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Looking on the Bright Side 
 
 Jim Jacobs aint the kind of chap to grumble and 
 
 complain, 
 No matter if the weather's dry or if it wants to rain. 
 He whistles when the creek is out and never seems to 
 
 fret; 
 "Oh, I dunno," is his response, "It aint so very wet." 
 
 In summer when the rains have ceased and people 
 
 are forlorn 
 And when they say the blazing sun is burning up 
 
 the corn, 
 Jim alius manages to shock the pessimistic swarm 
 When he observes "Oh, I dunno; it aint so very 
 
 warm." 
 
 While teaming o'er the Texas plains, way back in '88, 
 Jim lost the trail and lost hisself and lost his load of 
 
 freight. 
 He had no water for three days, but when relief 
 
 came by 
 Jim tipped the canteen up and said : "I wern't so very 
 
 dry." 
 
 One day, not very long ago, Jim suddenly took ill ; 
 The doctor came and left for him a powder and a 
 
 pill. 
 His wife called for the minister to come and see him 
 
 quick. 
 But Jim demurred, "Oh, I dunno ; I aint so very sick." 
 
 61 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The good man came and plead with him to hastily- 
 repent 
 
 Before he died and landed down where other sinners 
 went. 
 
 Jim smiled a little, sickly grin and raised up on his 
 cot 
 
 And feebly murmured : "I dunno ; hell aint so awful 
 hot." 
 
 WOES OF THE WEALTHY 
 
 He spent his three score years and ten 
 
 In piling up a fortune, 
 And earned, as his reward from men, 
 
 Denunciations, scorchin'. 
 He was condemned for this and that, 
 
 Till on his nerves it grated, 
 And then was called upon the mat 
 
 To be investigated. 
 "Alas!" he cried, "Wealth brings no joys; 
 
 I'll dissipate these riches 
 And buy ten million ragged boys 
 
 A pair of Sunday breeches." 
 He scattered gold with lavish hand 
 
 And feelings much elated. 
 When lo, they called him on the stand 
 
 To be investigated. 
 
 62 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 A Plea for the Teacher 
 
 The school marm is a winsome maid 
 
 Who toils for meager pay 
 
 To edify some little jade 
 
 Whose mind is bent on play. 
 
 For half a year she saves and works, 
 
 Accumulating scads, 
 
 Then spends them in successive jerks 
 
 For books and other fads ; 
 
 That she may better fitted be, 
 
 By summer institute, 
 
 To cultivate the young idee 
 
 And teach it how to shoot. 
 
 School is not what it used to be 
 
 When you and I were small ; 
 
 Such useless things as A B C 
 
 Are hardly taught at all. 
 
 Kids learn to read right off the book 
 
 Before they learn to spell, 
 
 And little girls are taught to cook 
 
 And do the housework well. 
 
 The boys now find their daily task 
 
 Not half so dull and stale, 
 
 For nothing better could they ask 
 
 Than hammer, saw and nail. 
 
 The teacher works for meager wage. 
 
 But has to strive the more 
 
 To glean from off the printed page 
 
 Some forty kinds of lore, 
 
 That she may guide the young idee 
 
 Along the proper way; 
 
 And that is why it seems to me 
 
 We ought to raise her pay. 
 
 63 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Work for the Booster Club 
 
 A maiden of uncertain years 
 
 Unto a Booster went; 
 Her eyes were filled with twinkling tears, 
 
 Her voice was cracked and bent. 
 She said: "I understand your club 
 
 Is working for the town, 
 To boost the cause of every dub 
 
 And keep dissension down. 
 
 "The city's merchants you protect 
 
 From aliens with their wares 
 And street car men are promptly checked 
 
 From charging monstrous fares; 
 But while you rave at Seerbuck-Ward, 
 
 It seems to me a bluff ; 
 The idee hits me plenty hard 
 
 You don't go far enough. 
 
 "The principle is all O. K., 
 
 I want to see it tried 
 Upon the chap who goes away 
 
 To get himself a bride. 
 There's lots of girls right here at home 
 
 Who do not have a beau, 
 And why young men for love should roam 
 
 Is something I don't know. 
 We are as good as those who dwell 
 
 In regions far away; 
 And yet it seems the foreign belle 
 
 Can beat us any day. 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 "So wont you, Mr. Booster Man, 
 
 Our interests protect 
 And try to formulate a plan 
 
 To have the practice checked? 
 For self alone you should not live 
 
 Your prospects to enhance ; 
 But try to find some v^ay to give 
 
 The home-grown girl a chance." 
 
 THE PESSIMIST'S PLAINT 
 
 The world is full of peril, you can feel it in the 
 air; you can tell it by Old Tabby's tail that bristles 
 up with hair ; there are dangers on the water, on the 
 land and in the sky, for the ocean might slop over, 
 or perhaps it might go dry. The earthquake and the 
 cyclone beset us night and morn, the army worms 
 and doodle bugs are eating up the corn, the atmos- 
 phere is laden with germs of every hue and comets 
 are cavorting across the distant blue. Ah, little do 
 I know the time when they may dash from space and 
 drag their fiery tails across my unprotected face. My 
 heart is filled with trouble and my eyes are wet with 
 tears for science says the sun will cool in forty million 
 years, the ice will form in solid sheets and cover all 
 the earth and we'll have to wear our ear-muffs as we 
 sit around the hearth. Although the things that 
 haunt me have never happened yet, the dread 
 suspense of what may come is why I moan and fret. 
 I think I might be happy, and I would surely try, if 
 I could be assured that I would live until I die. 
 
 65 
 
The Ideal Season 
 
 I do not care to loaf around 
 When summer heat and droughts abound ; 
 While others flee, their tasks to shirk, 
 I'd rather peg away and work. 
 
 The winter time is most too cold 
 The sights of nature to behold ; 
 The dells have lost their boskiness 
 And cold winds fill me with distress, 
 And if I do go out to roam 
 I wish that I had stayed at home. 
 
 In spring there always is a flood 
 To turn the highways into mud 
 And if I poke along the creek 
 I get the chills and shake a week. 
 Beside there is a lot of chores, 
 Like setting hens and swinging doors 
 And weaning pigs and hoeing corn 
 To keep me busy night and morn. 
 
 But when the autumn comes along 
 
 That lazy feeling hits me strong, 
 
 'Tis then I want to steal away 
 
 From tasks that erstwhile seemed but play. 
 
 All interest I quickly lose 
 
 In dog fights, wrecks or other news ; 
 
 And though I try from day to day 
 
 I cannot write a roundelay, 
 
 A sonnet or a pastoral, 
 
 A canticle or madrigal. 
 
 66 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The woods are calling me to come, 
 
 The bumblebees are on the bum, 
 
 I want to roam the field and mere 
 
 And gaze upon the fatted steer 
 
 That hasn't anything to do 
 
 The whole delightful season through 
 
 But stand upon the river brink 
 
 And chew his cud and think and think. 
 
 I know where is an orchard old 
 
 With offerings of red and gold 
 
 And where the wild grape climbs a tree 
 
 And flings its challenges to me. 
 
 I know that when the sun is bright 
 
 The bass and bullheads still will bite; 
 
 And so I'll take my line and pole 
 
 And seek some deep and placid hole. 
 
 Grasshoppers now are on the wing 
 
 And lazily they hop and sing 
 
 All ready to accommodate 
 
 The chap who seeketh after bait. 
 
 September weather is serene, 
 
 The trees and grass are not so green ; 
 
 I note already, here and there. 
 
 Some color combinations rare. 
 
 I hear the piping of the quail 
 
 And look with longing down the trail 
 
 That leads through glorious autumn days 
 
 And ends in Indian summer haze. 
 
 67 
 
The Christmas Fiddle 
 
 The Christmas season was drawing near 
 And I wondered what I would get that year. 
 I wanted a change from ties and socks 
 And stand-up collars and kerchief box. 
 So I told my friends they could keep their pelf 
 And I would buy something to please myself. 
 
 The winter season was dark and drear 
 And I longed for music, my soul to cheer, 
 Some strains harmonic, so light and gay, 
 To enter and drive dull care away. 
 
 I remembered hearing, some time, some way, 
 That one of my ancestors used to play 
 With a skillful hand on the violin. 
 Way back in the days that once had been. 
 And the notion was so with reason fraught 
 That into my head there came the thought, 
 Since I was a sprout from the family tree. 
 His mantle had fallen, perhaps, on me. 
 
 So I sent a letter to Sawbuck Rear, 
 
 In which was an order that read : "Dear Sir — 
 
 I send you a dollar and thirteen cents, 
 
 For which you will ship me, at my expense. 
 
 One soft-pine fiddle and horse-hair bow 
 
 That are listed in catalog so-and-so." 
 
 Well, I got that gourd next year, by freight, 
 And I sawed it early and sawed it late ; 
 I tackled "Dixie" and "Soldier's Joy" 
 
 68 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 And the mother's lament for her wandering boy, 
 
 And every time I would start to play 
 
 Some more of my neighbors would move away 
 
 When I ran the gamut in sharps and flats 
 
 It seemed the spirits of all the cats 
 
 That gave up their lives — and other things — 
 
 To furnish that fiddle a set of strings, 
 
 Would fill the twilight with shrieks and growls 
 
 And jar the nerves with their spectral yowls. 
 
 The price of lots in that part of town 
 
 Were finally forced and fiddled down 
 
 Till the owners declared when they learned the facts 
 
 That they would not keep them and pay the tax. 
 
 They took the matter up into court 
 
 And they dealt me a blow that destroyed my sport; 
 
 They made me go on the witness stand 
 
 And saw off a measure from "Sandy Land" 
 
 That the judge and the jury might hear and know 
 
 That all of the charges they made were so. 
 
 They dished me up an injunction suit 
 
 With a lot of damage and costs, to boot. 
 
 And the court observed as he looked me through: 
 
 'T find these charges are all too true. 
 
 Go home and see if you can't be good 
 
 And bust that box into kindling wood. 
 
 Your playing sounds like the Banshee's wail 
 
 And you'll have to cheese it or go to jail." 
 
 69 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Sister's Summer Hat 
 
 My sister bought a summer hat. 
 
 The rim was three feet wide, 
 It had a doodad on in front 
 
 And feathers at the side ; 
 She wore the hat to Sunday School, 
 
 She wore it to the show 
 And everywhere that sister went, 
 
 The hat was sure to go. 
 
 The plumage of the rooster, 
 
 The blue .lay and the crow 
 Is gaudy and is glossy 
 
 And makes a heap of show ; 
 The trappings of the ancient knight 
 
 Were made of burnished brass 
 And the way they used to glitter 
 
 There was nothing could surpass ; 
 But there's naught in art or nature 
 
 That was ever seen before 
 That can start to hold a candle 
 
 To the hat that sister wore. 
 
 When she wore it out in public, 
 
 Folks were filled with wild dismay 
 For they couldn't see a box car 
 
 If that hat was in the way ; 
 At church no one would sit behind 
 
 The pew where sister sat 
 For they could not see the preacher 
 
 Because of sister's hat ; 
 And many of the brethren 
 
 Who were slightly under-size 
 Lost all the claim they ever had 
 
 To mansions in the skies. 
 
 70 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 And each was represented 
 Only by a vacant chair, 
 
 For they would not go to meeting 
 If sister's hat was there. 
 
 Now sister had a sweetheart, 
 
 As sisters sometimes do. 
 But the wide expansive headgear 
 
 Broke the love affair in two ; 
 For when they went out strolling 
 
 To hold communion sweet 
 My sister walked upon the walk, 
 
 Her fellow in the street. 
 
 But sister does not worry. 
 
 Though all our folks are sad ; 
 She does not seem to give a care 
 
 That every one is mad. 
 Perhaps she thinks it matters not 
 
 If people frown or smile 
 Or what they say about her hat 
 
 So long as it's in style. 
 
 At church no one would sit behind the pew where sister sat, for 
 they could not see the preacher because of sister's hat. 
 
 71 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Exit J. Barleycorn 
 
 Sinff a sonff of white mule, bottle full of rye ; 
 All the whole creation now is going dry. 
 Russia lost her vodka, Germany her schnapps; 
 Soon there won't be any use in raising hops. 
 
 Brewer and distiller looking down their nose ; 
 Lots of kids and women wearing better clothes ; 
 Solons up in congress talking mighty strong 
 Of an anti-booze law, nation-wide-and-long. 
 
 Sentiment is changing everywhere you go ; 
 Fellow full of jag juice hasn't any show ; 
 Places in the old town where he used to drink 
 Do not want his quarter, cannot see him wink. 
 
 Factory and railroad advocate the can 
 As the proper token for the drinking man. 
 Spiritus frumenti, silo-soup and rum 
 Turn the handy genius to a useless bum. 
 
 Barleycorn, the monarch, soon will leave his throne, 
 Bootleg booze and jim-jams then will be unknown. 
 Sing a song of bug juice, make your biggest bluff; 
 Soon will eight and forty states be as dry as snuff. 
 
 72 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Moving Season 
 
 We are moving down at our house there is chaos 
 
 everywhere ; 
 We can see it in the prospect, we can feel it in the air. 
 There are blankets on the clothes-line and the porch 
 
 is piled with rugs, 
 We have kerosened the bedsteads to exterminate the 
 
 bugs. 
 
 I am searching for a weapon to extract a stubborn 
 screw. 
 
 But my neighbor cannot help me, 'cause his folks are 
 moving too. 
 
 'Tis the season for departing from the well accus- 
 tomed groove. 
 
 When the migratory microbe makes the women want 
 to move. 
 
 Yes, we're moving down at our house, we are going 
 
 to fly the coop ; 
 There is bedlam in the kitchen, there are toothpicks 
 
 in the soup, 
 There are rain barrels in the parlor, filled with 
 
 divers kind of junk, 
 And we're sleeping in the cellar with a carpet for a 
 
 bunk. 
 
 73 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Getting Back to the Farm 
 
 The cost of beef and bacon is getting mighty high, 
 The price of eggs and butter is soaring to the sky, 
 Our milk is so expensive that we only take a gill 
 And lest we drink too much at once we suck it 
 through a quill. 
 
 The cost of living is a theme that claims attention 
 now, 
 
 It even seems to have the bulge on Europe's family 
 row; 
 
 Our thoughts are turned from gas bombs and dirig- 
 ible balloons 
 
 While we ponder on the prospect of getting back to 
 prunes. 
 
 The men who guide the ship of state around the 
 
 shoals and wrecks 
 Are talking on the subject of causes and effects. 
 They seek to find the trouble and the remedy apply 
 That will keep the price of eatings from going up 
 
 so high. 
 
 They have juggled with statistics and performed a 
 
 little sum 
 And they tell us that production is completely on the 
 
 bum, 
 That the merchant and the banker and the printer 
 
 and the clerk 
 Must get out in the country and procure a job of 
 
 work. 
 
 They say the population now is drifting into town 
 And there must be some reaction to keep the prices 
 down; 
 
 74 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Yea, from the hill and housetop they are spreading 
 
 the alarm, 
 That the way to save the nation is to get back to the 
 
 farm. 
 
 Then farewell to the city with its glamor and its 
 
 strife, 
 I am going to seek some rural scene and lead the 
 
 simple life. 
 I want to be a farmer and with the farmer stand, 
 With hayseed in my whiskers and a pitchfork in my 
 
 hand. 
 
 I will skiddoo back to nature and I'll buy a span of 
 
 mules, 
 A husking peg and hayrake and other farming tools. 
 I will sow my fields in cabbage and when I thresh it 
 
 out 
 I will wreck the combination that controls our sour 
 
 krout. 
 
 I will plant the tiny hayseed and raise a crop of hay 
 Perhaps I'll keep a hen that lays a dozen eggs a day ; 
 I'll wipe the sweat from off my brow and bare my 
 
 strong right arm 
 And you'll see the prices tumble when I get back 
 
 to the farm. 
 
 75 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Fishing Time 
 
 I often think I'll take a day and have some jolly 
 
 times, 
 I long to lay this pen away and quit these silly 
 
 rhymes ; 
 I want to take my line and hook and go down to the 
 
 creek 
 And seek the most inviting hole and fish for near a 
 
 week. 
 
 But yet I know this impulse wild I must not carry out 
 For by it I am oft beguiled to paths of pain and doubt. 
 Because when I go out to fish I rarely get a bite 
 But sit there all day long and wish, then wander 
 home at night. 
 
 The turtles always get my bait as soon as I begin, 
 They gather round in droves and wait to watch me 
 
 throw it in ; 
 And when I go to hunt some more and delve around 
 
 and toil, 
 The insects all have locked their door and gone down 
 
 in the soil. 
 
 I might dig down to bedrock firm and never get a 
 one, 
 
 I do not think I'd find a worm to hunt from sun to 
 sun; 
 
 But if there's any poison oak, I'll meet with that in- 
 stead 
 
 And then my face I have to soak in acetate of lead. 
 
 Mosquitoes come and buzz and sing and prod me 
 with their bills, 
 
 76 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 And yet I wonder every spring what makes me have 
 
 the chills. 
 So perish, fond delusion, no longer will I dream 
 Of quiet and seclusion along the babbling stream. 
 
 A CAT— ASTROPHE 
 
 Mary had a little cat 
 That bore the name of Izzy ; 
 Upon a pole it climbed and sat 
 So high it made her dizzy. 
 Against a live electric wire 
 It touched its tail so fuzzy, 
 A little flash — a gleam of fire — 
 And now its name is Wuzzy. 
 
 7/ 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Downfall of the Speed Fiend 
 
 Jim Jacobs was a fiend for speed, 
 And so he sold his spavined steed 
 And put a mortgage on his land 
 And borrowed cash on every hand; 
 Then with the money went and bought 
 Himself a rattly juggernaut. 
 
 At first he seemed contented when 
 He killed a neighbor's setting hen, 
 But as the passion stronger grew 
 He paralyzed a dog or two. 
 
 From bad to worse Jim quickly went 
 Upon his deadly mission bent, 
 Till he would wink and slyly laugh 
 When he could crush a yearling calf. 
 
 One day, while driving into town 
 
 He ran a horse and buggy down, 
 
 Then turned and charged with honking loud 
 
 Upon an inoffensive crowd, 
 
 Which filled the air with dying groans 
 
 And shrieks and wails and crunch of bones. 
 
 The sheriff came and captured Jim 
 And put the comealongs on him, 
 So now he languishes in jail 
 For lack of forty thousand bail. 
 
 78 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 No Time to Vote 
 
 A busy man was Jason Brings 
 
 He had no time to vote. 
 He spent his days at weaning pigs 
 And building tanks and other rigs 
 
 To keep his ducks afloat. 
 
 I found him poking round his place 
 
 On last election day. 
 Says I: "'Tis well you saved your face 
 And kept your name from sad disgrace 
 
 And stayed the polls away. 
 
 "For I am told a bunch of thugs 
 Are pouring from their throats 
 
 Dire threats that they will punch the mugs 
 
 Of you and me and other plugs 
 Who try to cast their votes." 
 
 Old Briggses' eyes got very wide, 
 
 His face grew very red. 
 "What? take away the rights," he cried, 
 "For which our fathers fit and died ! 
 
 I'm goin' to vote, by Ned." 
 
 A lot of men like Jason Briggs, 
 
 Who pass their duty by 
 And do not care a bunch of figs 
 Would waltz around like whirligigs. 
 
 Should we their rights deny. 
 
 79 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Knocking the Doctor 
 
 When folks are feeling blithe and gay, 
 With ne'er an ache or pain, 
 They gad about the house all day 
 And chant this old refrain : 
 
 "The doctor is a useless wight. 
 His medicine a fake ; 
 He doses me with aconite 
 To cure the stomach ache. 
 
 "Now there was Uncle Hiram's kid. 
 Whose name was Ezra Stout, 
 He had the measles, so he did. 
 But wouldn't blossom out. 
 
 "They sent for Dr. So-and-So 
 Who diagnosed the case 
 As rheumatiz and vertigo 
 And dropsy of the face. 
 
 "And then he sent an awful bill 
 Which showed he had the cheek — 
 I never have one when I'm ill 
 My faith in them is weak." 
 
 But when folks get to feeling blue 
 And have to go to bed, 
 With maybe just a chill or two 
 And dizzy in the head — 
 
 They swear they have the grip or bots 
 Or other fatal ills 
 And send right off for Dr. Watts 
 To come and feed them pills. 
 
 80 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Legislative Superfluity 
 
 It's got to be so nowaday 
 There is a law for everything; 
 Our legislatures grind away 
 In winter time. and bonny spring. 
 And every chap who has a squeal 
 Goes round and wags his under jaw 
 And hands you out this tiresome spiel : 
 "I think there ought to be a law." 
 
 Wild-eyed reformers, filled with dreams. 
 
 Orate till their suspenders burst, 
 
 But when they hatch their little schemes 
 
 They try them on their neighbors first. 
 
 They warn us on the village street 
 
 That we should change our minds and socks. 
 
 They tell us what we ought to eat 
 
 And how to set our eight-day clocks. 
 
 And if we will not stand their josh, 
 
 Resentment rises in their craw. 
 
 They say: "I guess you will, b' gosh! 
 
 Pervided we can git a law." 
 
 I find that I am that way too 
 And so I'll go to aid the cause 
 And try to get a law put through 
 To stop this fad of making laws. 
 
 81 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Julius Caesar 
 
 I sometimes tire of daily news as dry exchanges 
 I peruse ; I long to quit this sordid grind and seek a 
 tonic for the mind — to single out some classic, old, 
 wherein a wondrous tale is told of knights and wars 
 and mountain steeps and castles with their donjon 
 keeps. 
 
 Last night while ruminating round, upon the 
 mantelpiece I found som.e mental fodder, cut and 
 dried, which told how Julius Caesar died. 
 
 This Caesar was a Roman bold, who from his 
 wars brought slaves and gold. Now certain knockers 
 in the land united in a secret band and plotted how 
 to take his life, but fair Calphurnia, Caesar's wife, in 
 some way seemed to get a nudge that someone owes 
 her man a grudge, that Brutus, Cassius, and the rest 
 would stab him through his fancy vest. And Caesar, 
 musing on the way, thus to Marc Antony did say : 
 
 "Now, mark you, Marc, yon Cassius, mien ; he is 
 too long and lank and lean. Give me big men who 
 sleep o' night, whose waistbands are extremely 
 tight." Thus portliness he did defend and proved 
 himself the Fat Man's friend. 
 
 The wary crew soon laid their plan and waited 
 long to get their man. "He is ambitious," Brutus 
 said; though thrice had Caesar shook his head, and 
 thrice the crown he did refuse. They murmured: 
 "Don't it beat the deuce? Did'st ever hear of such a 
 thing? He does not want the job of King. Perhaps 
 he seeks a higher place and thinks ere long to be the 
 Ace." 
 
 And so they shouted Caesar's name and ran their 
 
 82 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 daggers through his frame, till at their feet he fell 
 and died and they at last, were satisfied. 
 
 Marc Antony was Caesar's friend and got sweet 
 vengeance in the end and all of those who wrought 
 his doom, ere long had scooted up the flume. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON 
 
 The prodigal of scripture was a worthless sort of lad ; 
 He had the wanderitis and he had it awful bad ; 
 But when he balked on eating shucks and vowed no 
 
 more to roam 
 He got a lot of credit 'cause he hit the trail for home. 
 Yes, we hear about the prodigal and what a time he 
 
 had. 
 But nothing of the other boy, who didn't leave his 
 
 dad. 
 He was a patient charley-horse and stayed down on 
 
 the farm 
 To cuff the mules and split the wood to keep the 
 
 heater warm. 
 And when the absent hobo came and made his little 
 
 spiel, 
 The kid went out and skinned a calf, but brother 
 
 got the veal. 
 
 83 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Baby Sister 
 
 A little baby sister came to Willie's house one day, 
 
 By the Stork Route, straight from heaven, Willie 
 heard his Auntie say. 
 
 The little fellow did not know, nor could he under- 
 stand 
 
 Why any one should want to leave that bright and 
 happy land 
 
 And when he viewed the pinky face and little fuzzy 
 head 
 
 He looked as sober as a judge and to the infant said : 
 
 "You surely didn't come down here a lookin' for a 
 
 snap; 
 This world it aint no kind of place for such a weazly 
 
 chap. 
 My Mamma she is sick abed and Papa seems so blue ; 
 I don't see how we'll get along with such a mite as 
 
 you. 
 
 "If you had been a brother I could take you out to 
 
 play. 
 But you are just a little girl and only in the way. 
 You ought to stayed up yonder with the angels fair 
 
 and bright; 
 Our preacher says that heaven beats this country out 
 
 of sight. 
 And if you live down here on earth with women folks 
 
 and men 
 
 84 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 You'll have to run the risk of ever gettin' back 
 again." 
 
 NEW YEAR RESOLVES 
 
 I will not swear, I will not smoke, I will not 
 crack a naughty joke, I will not drink a drop of 
 booze, my temper I will never lose. I will not gam- 
 ble, steal or lie nor cheat my neighbor on the sly, I'll 
 help the poor with lavish hand and for the right will 
 take my stand. I will not knock against my town, 
 but try to keep dissension down, of people's faults I 
 will not talk nor spit upon the floor or walk and thus 
 distribute deadly germs ; nor patronize mail order 
 firms. I'll try to be a moral guide, a beacon, shining 
 far and wide. I'll seek the right and shun the wrong 
 and make this life one happy song. The virtuous 
 path today I'll seek and walk in it — perhaps a week. 
 
 85 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Snorer 
 
 The golden summer weather is the time to swat the 
 
 fly 
 
 And in the spring we long to see the dandelions die ; 
 In winter there's the fellow who will foolishly entice 
 A poor benighted brother through a thin place in the 
 
 ice. 
 It seems that every season has some things we'd 
 
 rather miss ; 
 Without them our existence would be one round of 
 
 bliss. 
 But while we must endure them, there comes the 
 
 thought sublime 
 That each will run its dreaded course in just a little 
 
 time. 
 The things of short duration do not fret me any more 
 They are nothing to the fellow with the deep, re- 
 dundant snore. 
 For the snorer is not governed by the changes of the 
 
 moon; 
 'Tis every night throughout the year he sings his dole- 
 ful tune, 
 And while he wildly saws the air it makes me toss 
 
 and weep 
 And softly breathe a cuss word because I cannot 
 
 sleep. 
 He goes from bass to treble and from treble back to 
 
 bass. 
 The while I woo the drowsy god by lying on my face. 
 O, I long to see him wafted to the dark, Plutonian 
 
 shore, 
 For my soul abhors the fellow with the syncopated 
 
 snore. 
 
 86 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 House Cleaning Time 
 
 Backward, turn backward, O, time, in your flight 
 And give me the house that I slept in last night, 
 My bed in the corner so cozy and snug, 
 The chair and the couch and the beautiful rug. 
 
 They are vanished and gone like a tale that is told. 
 And the floor of the room looks so cheerless and cold. 
 For bedding I have but a thin gunny sack 
 And I shudder to move lest I step on a tack. 
 
 My dinner was cold and my supper was raw. 
 But I know it is useless to grumble and jaw ; 
 For the house cleaning season has come once again 
 To wear out the patience of poor, helpless men. 
 
 I think every year I'll flee to some clime 
 And miss all the horrors of house cleaning time ; 
 I long to go off for a dash to the pole 
 Or be sent to the pen and allowed to dig coal. 
 
 I fain would abide in some cannibal's camp 
 Or sleep in the jungles so darksome and damp ; 
 To mountainous heights with delight I would climb 
 And stay there contented through house cleaning 
 time. 
 
 FOLLOWING SUIT 
 
 "'Tis mighty queer," said Ezra New, 
 "That when the snow leaves in the spring. 
 It's only just a week or two 
 Until the trees leave, too — by jing." 
 
 87 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Hand-Me-Down Maxims 
 
 Ben Franklin was a wondrous sage 
 Who flourished in a former age ; 
 He made a kite and flew it high 
 And yanked the lightning from the sky. 
 If he had stuck to tricks like that. 
 Upon his science standing pat, 
 His never dying memory 
 Would be a lot more dear to me. 
 
 But Ben was overwise and smart 
 And took himself too much to heart, 
 And wrote a lot of silly verse, 
 As bad as this and maybe worse, 
 To tell folks what they ought to do, 
 As if he thought that I or you 
 Would like to base our daily acts 
 Upon his blamed old almanacs. 
 
 Once, in an evil moment caught, 
 Down at the picture store I bought 
 A cardboard motto, in a frame, 
 And in my bedroom hung the same ; 
 Which told me what great Ben had said, 
 That I must early go to bed 
 And in the morning early rise, 
 For that would make me rich and wise. 
 So when the twilight shadows came 
 Methought I'd buck his little game. 
 That I might walk in Wisdom's ways 
 And pile up wealth for future days. 
 
 I hung my pants across a chair 
 
 And sought my couch of gander hair 
 
 And there upon the bed I tossed 
 
 88 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Till all my patience I had lost; 
 And counted ninety thousand sheep 
 Before I closed my eyes in sleep. 
 
 Ere long a pain across my lap 
 Awoke me from a troubled nap 
 And when the doctor came he said: 
 "You should not go so soon to bed ; 
 Your evening meal did not digest 
 Which robbed you of your peaceful rest. 
 Three dollars, please, is what you owe 
 And if you'll pay me I will go." 
 
 I took that jinx down from the wall 
 And tossed it out into the hall. 
 And secretly I vowed that hence 
 I'd use a little common sense 
 And take no longer as a guide 
 Such foolish maxims, cut and dried. 
 
 89 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Summer of Umpity Steen 
 
 When the weather is hot and the river is dry 
 And the corn and the taters are yellow and sear, 
 Some windy old dub always raises the cry 
 And says "O, this isn't a very dry year. 
 
 "Now back in the summer of Umpity-steen 
 We sure had a drought that would open your eyes; 
 For days and for weeks and for months I have seen 
 Hot weather, with never a cloud in the skies. 
 
 "That there was the year when the rattlesnakes died 
 
 Beneath the hot rays of the merciless sun ; 
 
 Full many a one have I et, ready fried, 
 
 As he lay in the pathway, deliciously done. 
 
 "They say that this dry spell beats anything yet 
 And quote you the figgers to prove it is true. 
 But I claim the weather is soggy and wet 
 Compared to the summer of Umpity-two. 
 
 "That season I broke forty acres of sod 
 
 With a pair of dun mules that couldn't be beat. 
 
 But I ruined 'em both just by keepin' 'em shod. 
 
 For their shoes got so hot that it roasted their feet» 
 
 "Don't talk of the river and ponds bein' low ; 
 Why, back in the summer of Umpity-four 
 The Babtists was holding a camp meetin' show 
 And people come forrerd each night by the score. 
 
 "But when it was ended a fact come to light 
 That made them evangelists open their eyes; 
 They found theirselves in a most sorrowful plight — 
 There wasn't no water for them to babtize. 
 
 90 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 "Then a young circuit rider of Wesleyan creed, 
 Who found how them converts was left in the lunch, 
 Made a forty mile journey down there on his steed 
 And roped 'em all into the Methodist church. 
 
 "No need to tell me that the season is hot; 
 I know what I know and I've seen what I've seen ; 
 W'y it's pleasant compared to the weather we got 
 Back there in the summer of Umpity-steen." 
 
 CITY ELECTIONS 
 
 Election now is over and the votes are counted 
 out, the victors are rejoicing to see the losers pout; 
 the statesmen are selected to make the city's laws, 
 the local politicians now may rest their weary jaws. 
 The race is to the swiftest, the battle to the strong, 
 their friends now slap them on the back, but soon 
 they'll change their song. For there's one who wants 
 a street light on the corner where he lives and one 
 don't like the service his water meter gives; the 
 sportsman will be wrathy if the marshal shoots his 
 dog; the preacher wants a sidewalk built down past 
 the synagogue ; the merchant wants an ordinance to 
 keep Ward Skeerbuck out and to stop the vile in- 
 truder who peddles sour krout; the taxes are away 
 too high, the crossings are too low and if they put the 
 paving in where will the water go? There are lots 
 of things need doing in each kick infested town but 
 the man who undertakes them adds some stars unto 
 his crown, for henceforth his earthly journey will be 
 filled with grief and woe till he soars away to glory 
 from this wicked world below. 
 
 91 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Christmas Giving 
 
 The busy Christmas shopper 
 Considers it is proper 
 To join the crowd and rush into the thickest of the 
 fray 
 And soak his summer wages 
 In quick, successive stages 
 To buy some presents for his friends on happy 
 Christmas day. 
 
 The age in which we're living 
 Is an awful time for giving, 
 But the spirit that is prompting it may be entirely 
 wrong ; 
 Too often Christmas shopping 
 Is a sort of Christmas swapping 
 In a sort of favored circle where they pass the gifts 
 along. 
 
 If I buy my aunts and cousins 
 Costly trinkets by the dozens 
 Or present my wealthy neighbor with a silver 
 spittereen, 
 'Tis because of expectation 
 That there'll be reciprocation, 
 And I'll get a handsome runabout, propelled by 
 gasoline. 
 
 The fellow who is needy. 
 Whose duds are old and seedy, 
 Gets little out of Christmas but a fresh supply of 
 woes; 
 
 92 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 His children know no Santy 
 For his means are very scanty 
 And every cent that he can make must go for food 
 and clothes. 
 
 The real Christmas giving 
 That makes this life worth living 
 And shows that we are any use in this old world of 
 care 
 Is to give where it is needing 
 And pass not by unheeding 
 The wants of those around us who do not get their 
 share. 
 
 Some humble, little present 
 Or a smile that's warm and pleasant 
 Will please a child or cheer those hearts that oft for 
 kindness yearn 
 And will give more real pleasure 
 Than a ton of costly treasure 
 That we send our friends, expecting something better 
 in return. 
 
 93 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Calendar and the Girl 
 
 The men who sell us cheeses, 
 Who deal out dope for sneezes 
 And those who handle corner lots and blue sky min- 
 ing stock, 
 Who peddle books and papers 
 And lightning rods and tapers, 
 Are waiting now to greet us as we amble round the 
 block. 
 
 With faces kind and pleasant 
 
 They hand us out a present, 
 A calendar to warn us how the dizzy seasons whirl, 
 
 All filled with days and weather. 
 
 With moons and weeks together, 
 And there upon the cover is the picture of a girl. 
 
 Too soon are we encumbered 
 With souvenirs unnumbered ; 
 The artists vie to please us with some forty kinds of 
 style. 
 Some long, and some are shorter 
 Some narrow — kinda sorter — 
 But the girl upon the cover greets us with the same 
 old smile. 
 
 The futurists and cubists 
 
 And some who must be rubists. 
 Who wear a wisp of new mown hay within their 
 tangled curls. 
 
 Are drawing princely wages 
 
 In quick, successive stages 
 By furnishing variety in calendars and girls. 
 
 94 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Fair maids with auburn tresses 
 And spangles on their dresses ; 
 Shy damsels wrapt in dimples — only this and nothing 
 more; 
 Sweet Janes in fuss and feather, 
 'Mid snow and stormy weather, 
 And angels, clad in bath suits, sporting on the sandy 
 shore. 
 
 We like the girls — God bless 'em, 
 Any way the artists dress 'em, 
 We gladly post their pictures in the parlor or the 
 hall; 
 They grace our summer kitchen. 
 With face and form bewitchin'. 
 And we want a half a dozen hanging on the bedroom 
 wall. 
 
 But we crave some variation 
 
 In our scheme of decoration. 
 We'd like to have a calendar to hang out in the shed, 
 
 A straw stack or a plover 
 
 Upon the painted cover, 
 A forest fire or sunset, daubed in colors ruby red. 
 
 Can't some one draw a smoke-stack, 
 
 A hand car or a flapjack 
 A mountain or a mole hill, a sawmill or a squirrel 
 
 To decorate those doogies 
 
 That show how tempus fuges? 
 Just anything on earth except the picture of a girl. 
 
 95 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Pawpaw 
 
 The pawpaw grows out in the wood 
 
 Upon a little tree, 
 It has a flavor sweet and good 
 
 That quite agrees with me. 
 Its mushy meat I fain would gulp, 
 
 'Tis soothing to my soul ; 
 It has brown seeds and juicy pulp, 
 
 A skin surrounds the whole. 
 I meet some folks upon life's road 
 
 Who do not like its taste 
 And if they had a wagon load 
 
 Would let them go to waste. 
 I might be able to conceive. 
 
 If I should firmly strive 
 How one might be content to leave 
 
 The pleasant family hive 
 And go out in the cruel world, 
 
 In loneliness to roam 
 Where disappointment's darts are hurled 
 
 And never think of home ; 
 Or even how a man might learn 
 
 To love his mother-in-law. 
 But cannot see how one could spurn 
 
 The glorious pawpaw. 
 If I were rich as Morganheim 
 
 I'd buy a plot of land 
 And put in all my leisure time 
 
 Upon a project grand; 
 I'd set it out in pawpaw trees 
 
 And thus provide a treat, 
 That all the folks on land and sea 
 
 Might have enough to eat. 
 
 96 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Legislature 
 
 Oh, we have a legislature at Topeky, 
 
 There are men with noses keen and voices squeaky; 
 
 There are those whose steps are slow 
 
 And whose tones are soft and low, 
 And all appear to have some notions freaky. 
 
 The bills that they present, their name is oodles, 
 They are working out a recipe for noodles; 
 
 They would fain forbid our dears 
 
 Wearing doo-dads in their ears. 
 And they want to put a tax on sore-eyed poodles. 
 
 For fewer county offices they beller. 
 Till they've scared the court house "rats" into the 
 cellar, 
 
 Where each one has agreed 
 
 It is just the thing we need. 
 Provided they will can the other feller. 
 
 They seem to have poor luck at legislating, 
 But expect to do some tall appropriating; 
 
 If their promises they spurn, 
 
 They can anyway adjourn 
 And let the taxes go on aviating. 
 
 But let's be calm and face it without squealing 
 And calmly play the hand that they are dealing; 
 
 If they only wag their jaws 
 
 And refrain from passing laws, 
 There wont be such a bunch to need repealing. 
 
 97 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 School Day Memories 
 
 I used to be a pedagog of country school degree, 
 
 I used to spank the towsled kid across my bended 
 
 knee, 
 I used to teach some thirty brats for six months in 
 
 the year 
 And sweep the floor and build the fires for forty 
 
 dollars per. 
 
 I sit today and weave these rhymes and thank my 
 
 lucky stars 
 I do not have to hunt for verbs for busy brains to 
 
 parse, 
 I do not eat cold lunch at noon and wade the mud 
 
 and snow ; 
 I gave up all those dreary things a dozen years ago. 
 
 And yet, when summer days are gone and autumn 
 
 comes apace, 
 An impulse springs within my soul, usurping reason's 
 
 place. 
 The sun is slanting to the south, the days are clear 
 
 and cool 
 And something seems to tell me that I'd like to teach 
 
 a school. 
 
 A vision flits across my mind — a school house small 
 and white. 
 
 With many a knot hole in the wall and broken win- 
 dow light. 
 
 98 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 A lane that came up from the south, with sunflowers 
 
 blooming high 
 And tufts of yellow goldenrod, delightful to the eye. 
 
 I like to think those boys and girls who gathered 
 
 round my knee 
 Are better men and women now for going to school 
 
 to me 
 And as they rise to conquer in this world of smile and 
 
 strife 
 I only hope I had a part in helping them through life. 
 
 It seems as years go floating by on wings so sure and 
 
 fleet 
 There's something blots the bitter out and leaves 
 
 me all the sweet; 
 For memory can't be trusted if once we give her rein, 
 She brings us all our pleasures back and buries all 
 
 our pain. 
 
 THE WARM WEATHER NUISANCE 
 
 They're at the cemetery 
 Planting Christopher McGrew 
 Who asked a pilgrim, weary: 
 "Is it hot enough for you ? " 
 
 99 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The National Guard 
 
 We used to call 'em ''dough boys," "tin soldiers" and 
 
 the like 
 We used to holler "Hayfoot!" when they went out 
 
 on a hike, 
 We couldn't understand what we were paying taxes 
 
 for 
 To drill a bunch of soldiers when there wasn't any 
 
 war. 
 
 We looked upon their practice with a heap of solemn 
 
 scorn, 
 We said they ought to stay at home and plow the 
 
 weedy corn. 
 We aped their awkward motions when they fumbled 
 
 a salute. 
 And asked them what their guns were for and who 
 
 they meant to shoot. 
 
 Sometimes on Decoration Day we let them march 
 
 along 
 And tag the great procession of a patriotic throng. 
 But generally we met them with a snicker or a frown 
 And never looked upon them as an asset to the town. 
 
 But now it seems a change has come o'er Hicksburg 
 
 on the plain, 
 Our boys are followed by the band while marching 
 
 to the train. 
 
 100 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 They know what they are up against and seem to 
 
 think it fun, 
 While the band down at the depot plays "Johnny Get 
 
 Your Gun." 
 
 At last we found a place for them to prove their real 
 
 worth ; 
 They're the fairest of ten thousand and the flower 
 
 of the earth. 
 When Uncle Sam was short on men and up against 
 
 it hard 
 The call to go against the foe was answered by the 
 
 guard. 
 
 
 IT WAS A CHURCH WEDDING 
 
 The bride came tripping down the aisle, 
 Upon her features was a smaisle. 
 Beside her walked the trembling groom, 
 His face as solemn as the toom. 
 
 101 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 A Plea for the Mule 
 
 In history and poetry, in music and in art 
 
 The horse has been a favored beast and played a 
 
 leading part, 
 And while I don't begrudge him the fame that he 
 
 has won. 
 There's been too little said about his sister's long 
 
 eared son. 
 
 We praise the foaming charger and weave him in a 
 
 song, 
 But how about the humble beast that hauls the grub 
 
 along? 
 He snakes the heavy cannon o'er muddy field and 
 
 road 
 And is never known to whimper or complain about 
 
 his load. 
 
 In times of peace as well as war the mule is not a 
 shirk. 
 
 When Dobbin takes a balky spell, it's Jasper does 
 the work. 
 
 In many ways he proves himself much wiser than 
 the steed 
 
 He never takes an overdose of water or of feed ; 
 
 And should he chance to run away when by ambition 
 fired. 
 
 He always makes his dash with care and stops be- 
 fore he's tired. 
 
 102 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 I know there is a prejudice against this humble beast 
 But those who hold him with disdain are they that 
 
 know him least. 
 Investigate his record with a calm, unbiased mind 
 And you will find, as I have found, that he has been 
 
 maligned. 
 For even men who hold him up to scorn and ridicule 
 Might learn a wholesome lesson from the humble, 
 
 patient mule. 
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 
 
 "Will you walk into my parlor?" said the spider 
 to the fly; but the cunning little insect only winked 
 the other eye and he knowingly retorted in a buzz so 
 low and sweet: "Well, not upon your half-tone, I 
 have learned to watch my feet. I have a load of 
 small-pox on my silken little wings, my legs are lined 
 with typhus germs and other deadly things. I am 
 taking some bacilli to a house across the way and you 
 must not try to stop me, for I have no time to play." 
 
 Once more the spider pleaded in accents soft 
 and low : "Won't you step into my parlor and rest be- 
 fore you go? My web is lined with gossamer of tex- 
 ture fine and rare and you'll find some lovely 
 microbes if you will enter there. I have a nice collec- 
 tion I am saving just for you, and I want to seal our 
 friendship with a B. Coli or two." 
 
 "With all my heart," replied the fly and straight- 
 way walked inside and the spider got his dinner and 
 was fully satisfied. 
 
 L;^ 
 
 103 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Parade Habit 
 
 It used to be in strenyus times when things was r'iled 
 
 a bit 
 We'd gather round the grocery stove an' argify an' 
 
 spit; 
 But now our mouths we do not shoot, our backs we 
 
 do not arch, 
 For when we wish to make our p'int, we jist git out 
 
 an' march. 
 
 The fellers who are strong for peace, who fear war's 
 
 dread alarm. 
 They lay aside their labors now in store or shop or 
 
 farm 
 An' form theirselves in solid ranks along the busy 
 
 street 
 To prove that they are in the right by workin' of 
 
 their feet. 
 
 Likewise the guys who say this land is wholly unpre- 
 pared. 
 
 Who think the mollycoddles are all asleep or scared. 
 
 They mass their solid columns within the marts of 
 trade 
 
 An' hoof it down the avenue an' give a big parade. 
 
 The gals who b'leeve in sufferage are trampin' out 
 
 the votes, 
 The labor unions walk to show how mammon got 
 
 their goats ; 
 
 104 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 We have no use for orators our the'ries to expound, 
 We'd ruther go an' hire a band an' f oiler it around; 
 
 We do not quote authorities to show that we are right 
 When we go in for buildin' roads or puttin' booze to 
 
 flight, 
 An' if some other feller's scheme we want to give a 
 
 knock, 
 We simply gather up a crowd an' hayfoot round the 
 
 block. 
 
 THE SUCCESSFUL FAILURE 
 
 Bill Budlong of Ranikaboo 
 
 Had nothing whatever to do ; 
 
 Each job that he tried he bungled and pied, 
 
 Till he had to get up and skiddoo. 
 
 He started to work for himself. 
 But he never could corner the pelf; 
 His head was so lame his creditors came 
 And laid his affairs on the shelf. 
 
 Now Bill would occasionally mix 
 With the men who were in politics ; 
 So Tom, Dick and Bob created a job 
 The future of William to fix. 
 
 They made him the Big Gazaboo, 
 The Rajah of Ranikaboo. 
 Ten dollars a day he draws as his pay 
 And he has very little to do. 
 
 He rules like a king on his throne 
 And the depth of his gall is unknown. 
 He can teach millionaires to run their affairs 
 Though he never could manage his own. 
 
 105 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Gardening By Almanac 
 
 Jim Jacobs owned a plot of ground ; 
 He fenced it carefully around 
 And spread it thick with rich manure, 
 Its fertile nature to insure. 
 
 He ordered packs of garden seeds, 
 
 Of nice, clean strain and free from weeds; 
 
 He worked away with rake and hoe 
 
 And formulated bed and row. 
 
 Then sat him down to rest his back 
 
 And read Hostetter's almanac. 
 
 For Jim was ancient in his ways. 
 He went by seasons, signs and days; 
 From February until June 
 His acts were governed by the moon. 
 
 The while the spring was clear and fair 
 He lingered in his easy chair. 
 And feared to sow his crop of peas 
 Because the sign w^as in the knees. 
 
 He frittered golden hours away 
 And waited for St. Patrick's day. 
 And then he could not plant a spud 
 Unless he slopped around in mud. 
 
 When favored by the Zodiac, 
 The frigid weather held him back. 
 Till he lost out on stringless beans 
 And failed on raising mustard greens. 
 
 While waiting for the moon to phase 
 The time went by for early maize. 
 And summer came and then the fall 
 And Jacobs raised no crop at all. 
 
 106 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Call of the Brook 
 
 Whene'er a gentle shower falls 
 
 And lures the red worms from the soil 
 
 A still, small voice from somewhere calls 
 
 And bids me quit insipid toil. 
 
 I want to take a line and hook, 
 A can of wiggly, squirming bait, 
 And mope off to the burbling brook 
 Where hungry bullheads stand and wait. 
 
 The green upon the graceful elm, 
 The red-bird singing in the tree, 
 The tadpole as he ports his helm 
 Are all of interest to me. 
 
 This angling is a sport for kings. 
 It beats baseball and mumbly pegs; 
 It makes dull care sprout eagle wings 
 And knocks the spavin from my legs. 
 
 And as I hit the homeward route 
 *Tis sweet to think, at eventide. 
 When I have yanked their innards out 
 How nice those fish will be when fried. 
 
 I like their flavor, it is true 
 But if I do not get a bite, 
 I feel most any way but blue 
 As I go tramping home at night. 
 
 For narrow is the soul of him 
 Whose only concept of success 
 Hangs on the proposition, slim, 
 Of whether he can catch a mess. 
 
 107 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Requiescat In Partes 
 
 Jim Jacobs owned a motor car that sped along like 
 
 blazes, 
 And many were the noble men he put beneath the 
 
 daisies ; 
 They warned him and they pinched him but he went 
 
 his way unheeding, 
 And nothing seemed to satisfy his mania for speeding. 
 
 For splintered bone and quaking flesh the villain 
 
 seemed to hanker, 
 He crippled up a section boss and massacred a 
 
 banker. 
 And when a circus came to town and through the 
 
 street paraded, 
 He bore down like a juggernaut and had a cyclone 
 
 faded. 
 
 He bumped into the monkey cage, he busted up the 
 
 kirmess. 
 He fractured all the ribs inside the monster pachy- 
 
 dermus, 
 He killed a Spanish matador who came from Casa 
 
 Loma, 
 And when the cops got on his track he fled to 
 
 Oklahoma. 
 
 Across the oil fields he sped, his purpose never 
 
 flaggin' 
 And bumped some nitroglycerin upon a shooter's 
 
 wagon. 
 The shock that followed scattered him all over forty 
 
 acres. 
 They never could have picked him up with fifty 
 
 undertakers. 
 
 108 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 Kind hearted men, who delve for oil upon surround- 
 ing leases, 
 Set up a slab and on it wrote this legend : 
 
 'REST IN PIECES." 
 
 BABY BYE— REVISED 
 
 Baby Bye, here's a fly. 
 
 Let us swat him, you and I ; 
 
 See him crawl up the wall, 
 
 Aint he got a lot of gall? 
 
 Now he goes on his toes, 
 
 Spreading germs o'er Baby's nose. 
 
 Baby Bye, swat the fly. 
 
 Soak the villain hip and thigh; 
 
 He is like Pandora's box, 
 
 Full of mumps and chicken-pox. 
 
 See, he scatters in his wake 
 
 Grip and croup and stomach-ache. 
 
 Get a sheet of tangle-foot, 
 
 Screens upon the window put; 
 
 Do not let the little fly 
 
 In the room with Baby Bye. 
 
 109 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Taking Vacations 
 
 Old Rockebilt has lots of dough 
 And wants for nothing here below; 
 He has a mansion rich and rare, 
 With walnut floor and marble stair, 
 An uptown office, grand and gay, 
 In which he spends an hour a day. 
 And while I never saw him do 
 What looks like work to me and you, 
 Yet strange to say, within his breast 
 There dwells the strong desire for rest. 
 
 Whene'er the summer comes apace. 
 He hikes to hunt a cooler place ; 
 From June the first till early fall 
 He trots around this earthly ball 
 And visits cities o'er and o'er 
 He's seen a dozen times before. 
 
 He spends a week in Santa Fe, 
 Then takes a swim in Baffin Bay, 
 And straightway flits across the foam. 
 Some twenty thousand miles from home. 
 To gaze upon the same old Alps 
 Or view a lot of martyr scalps, 
 Stacked in a musty catacomb 
 Upon the site of ancient Rome. 
 
 When Rockebilt gets home once more 
 The autumn days are almost o'er 
 And he must seek a warmer clime. 
 Before the rigid winter time 
 Comes on to chase the goose flesh out 
 And bring again a twinge of gout. 
 
 110 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 He sends a call by telephone 
 To somewhere in the torrid zone 
 And hires a suite of forty rooms 
 Where nature wears eternal blooms ; 
 Then up he gets and off he goes 
 To where it never sleets or snows. 
 
 And so it goes, year after year. 
 
 He wont stay there he can't stay here ; 
 
 He never seems to think it best 
 
 To take a rest from hunting rest. 
 
 I can't afford to gad around 
 Through Mozambique and Puget Sound; 
 I have not that amount of cash 
 To warrant me in such a dash. 
 Beside I think the man who stays 
 Upon the job through trying days 
 Has lots more pleasure when by chance 
 He gets to don his Sunday pants 
 And pack his duds into a grip 
 To start off on his humble trip. 
 
 I go down where I used to stay, 
 A score of miles or so away. 
 Which seems to me is better far 
 Than traipsing off to Zanzibar. 
 Then all the folks I used to know 
 Walk up and shake and say hello 
 And call me by my forward name 
 And say I'm looking just the same. 
 
 I find that country grub a treat 
 For folks at home have lots to eat; 
 I join the kids and play at catch, 
 I hunt the watermelon patch. 
 Or hang around the cider mill 
 With cup to catch the nut-brown rill. 
 
 Ill 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 I cut a lot of slender poles 
 To try out all the fishing holes 
 And when at eventide I bring 
 A mess of bullheads on a string, 
 I'm just as proud of what I got 
 As though I owned a fussy yacht 
 And caught a whale in Zuyder Zee 
 Or slew a moose in Tennessee. 
 
 HEREDITARY CRIME 
 
 There used to be traitors and liars and thieves 
 and men who would plunder and kill and people 
 imagined their devilment came because of their own 
 wicked will. But now it is proven such logic is false, 
 they were moved by some subtle desire, a mania 
 possessed them that they had acquired from mother 
 or granddad or sire. There was Judas Iscariot, 
 whose name we abhor; perhaps he was not such a 
 scamp, his ancestors may have been miserly men and 
 left on their offspring this stamp. And Benedict 
 Arnold, who sold this fair land to the forces of old 
 Johnny Bull, might have had a big load of dementia 
 on hand that he was unable to pull. That Ananias- 
 Sapphira affair that raised such a terrible row — if 
 given a chance on a perjury charge they could plead 
 mythomania now. 
 
 112 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 The Assessor 
 
 The busy assessor is out on his beat 
 
 And craves your attention awhile, 
 So when he approaches you, try to keep sweet 
 
 And answer his questions and smile. 
 
 He wants to find out what your property's worth 
 And how much you have in the bank; 
 
 The month and the day and the year of your birth; 
 And what is your station and rank ; 
 
 How many dill pickles you planted last year; 
 
 The number of hen eggs you get; 
 What you do when the weather is pleasant and clear. 
 
 And when it is soggy and wet. 
 
 He counts all the dogs and the children in sight 
 
 And asks if you have any more. 
 Does you wife raise a row when you stay out at night? 
 
 Have you ever been married before? 
 
 A book and a pencil and paper he brings, 
 
 With questions conned over by rote 
 And asks you a million and forty-four things 
 
 About like the samples I quote. 
 
 So try to be truthful, though others have lied, 
 And if you don't know, make a guess. 
 
 There's no use in trying your secrets to hide 
 From the man who comes round to assess. 
 
 113 
 
When Willie Jined the Band 
 
 There's Willie, he's our youngest son, 
 
 He went to town to work ; 
 'Twas in his uncle's livery barn^ 
 
 He got a job as clerk. 
 He wasn't like the other boys, 
 
 His brothers Jeff and Harm ; 
 He 'lowed he'd never kill himself 
 
 A workin' on a farm. 
 
 We hadn't got no word from him 
 
 Till one day Silas Brown, 
 Who alius stops to chat awhile 
 
 When he comes home from town, 
 He stops his horse and says to me 
 
 "Well, Zeke, I understand 
 That that there boy, Bill, of yours 
 
 Has went and jined the band." 
 
 I didn't think it strange at all 
 
 And neither did his Ma ; 
 He could make a jews-harp jingle 
 
 On "Turkey In The Straw." 
 At singin' school when all the rest 
 
 Would sit around and grin, 
 Will laid aside his bashfulness 
 
 And boldly waded in. 
 
 The Fourth was only three days off ; 
 
 We hadn't planned to go, 
 'Cause we had lots of corn to plow 
 
 And lots of weeds to hoe. 
 But we finally decided 
 
 To celebrate the day, 
 And more especial when we learned 
 
 The band was goin' to play. 
 
 114 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 When we drove in the picnic grounds 
 
 The band was on parade ; 
 It kinder quickened up my pulse 
 
 To hear the tunes they played. 
 And when our Willie marched along, 
 
 Dressed in his uniform, 
 It sorter throwed me off my base 
 
 And took my wits by storm. 
 
 I almost thought that he was me 
 
 In my old suit of blue ; 
 My mind went back to other days — 
 
 The days of ' sixty two — 
 I heard once more the tune they played 
 
 In years that's gone before: 
 'We're coming, Father Abraham, 
 
 Three hundred thousand more." 
 
 The waving flags, the beating drums, 
 
 The screaming of the fife. 
 All took me backward through those days 
 
 Of fratricidal strife. 
 The wildest notes of war's alarm 
 
 Kept chasin' through my brain; 
 It didn't seem like me at all 
 
 Till I got home again. 
 
 115 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 'Nothing in the Paper'' 
 
 "There's nothing in the paper" is a very common 
 
 phase ; 
 Perhaps it may have come to us from pre-diluvian 
 
 days. 
 No doubt when Noah and his sons were fitting up 
 
 the ark, 
 The folks who read the Daily Squawk would sit 
 
 around and bark 
 And wonder why the editor devoted gobs of space 
 To a cranky preacher-carpenter with whiskers on 
 
 his face. 
 
 "There's nothing in the paper," the sad subscriber 
 
 groans, 
 "Except that Mrs, Isaac Smith is calling on Miss 
 
 Jones, 
 Or Jinks has roofed his hen house or cut his crop of 
 
 weeds, 
 Or that Schnickelfritz, the grocer, sells farm and 
 
 garden seeds." 
 
 When there has been a holocaust, a murder or a fight, 
 The reader takes an interest, you see his features 
 
 light; 
 He yells unto his neighbor who lives across the way: 
 "Why don't they give us news like that to read about 
 
 each day?" 
 
 He does not seem to realize that when the paper 
 
 lacks 
 The headlines, red and screaming, with their toll of 
 
 grewsome facts, 
 
 116 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 That everything is lovely with neighbor, friend and 
 
 foe 
 And the town is jogging onward in the way it ought 
 
 to go. 
 
 So when you find no rank detail of some revolting 
 
 caper 
 Just fold it up and thank the Lord "There's nothing 
 
 in the paper." 
 
 KEEPING UP THE INTEREST 
 
 Mary had a little calf — 
 
 In fact she had a pair — 
 
 But the fellows couldn't see them 
 
 For the clothes she used to wear. 
 
 So Mary shortened up her skirts, 
 
 Her gambrels to display. 
 
 And proudly marched along the streets 
 
 To paralyze the jay. 
 
 Eftsoons she lost the power 
 The loafers to bewitch, 
 For they had grown accustomed 
 To seeing legs and sich ; 
 
 So she togged her underpinnings 
 In thin and gauzy hose 
 And shoes so low they only served 
 To cover up her toes. 
 
 When these at last had spent their charms 
 The gazers to debauch. 
 She tried the latest recipe 
 And bought an ankle watch. 
 
 117 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Reformed Reformer 
 
 Gid Fluke has turned evangelist, 
 The devil's tail he likes to twist ; 
 He tells upon the street each day 
 How he was once a cast-away. 
 And thousands come as he exhorts, 
 Who shed big tears when he cavorts. 
 And wonder at the change that's come 
 O'er such a booze-besotted bum. 
 
 This world is full of sin and woe. 
 
 And ministers are scarce, I know; 
 
 I might go out and snatch the brands 
 
 That now are grasped in Satan's hands, 
 
 But, sad to say, when I was young 
 
 No cuss-words slid from off my tongue, 
 
 I did not fall a prey to drink 
 
 And down into the gutter sink. 
 
 Nor patronize a gambling hell. 
 
 That I in later years might tell 
 
 The story of my early woes, 
 
 And proudly show my flaming nose. 
 
 For I was taught that what we sowed 
 When starting out upon life's road. 
 The same we'd reap in after years; 
 That vice would bring us bitter tears. 
 While, if we walked in virtue's ways, 
 A plenteous peace would bless our days. 
 And so I went to Sunday School 
 And tried to live the Golden Rule ; 
 Quite confident when I was grown 
 A long-tailed coat should be my own; 
 
 118 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 That in the pulpit I should stand 
 And sound the gospel through the land; 
 While Gid, with other sinful chaps, 
 Was in a box car shooting craps. 
 
 But now I toil for meager pay 
 At humble tasks the livelong day, 
 While Gid is hoarding big, fat rolls 
 By saving countless sinners' souls. 
 
 WHAT'S IN A NAME? 
 
 Mamie and Mabel and Mary and Grace, 
 They went off to school in a very swell place 
 In a week came a letter signed "Your own Maymye, 
 I'm having a time and I know you don't blayme me." 
 The second young miss on a postcard wrote "May- 
 belle" 
 And added ''I'll send more as soon as I'm aybelle." 
 Some other folks heard from their darling Marie 
 Who was happy, she said, as a bird on a trie. 
 And last but not least came a message from Grayce 
 Who said "I am firmly attached to this playce." 
 
 119 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 Everything Is High 
 
 Have you noticed what a contest 
 Has been going on of late? 
 Every blessed thing around us 
 Seems to want to aviate. 
 
 Airship men are fighting, striving, 
 For the greatest altitude 
 And we all are quite familiar 
 With the current price of food. 
 
 Now the fashions are decreeing 
 Higher hems for misses' skirts ; 
 Some among the latest models 
 Would not do for decent shirts. 
 
 In this age of aviating 
 Men are mounting to the breeze. 
 And the girls are wearing dresses 
 That will hardly hide their knees. 
 
 Every season finds them shorter 
 And it's time to call a halt. 
 Ere the blasts of rude November 
 From the polar regions vault. 
 
 If the girls keep on undressing 
 At the rate they have this fall. 
 Ere the snow of winter strikes them 
 They will have no skirts at all. 
 
 120 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 A Tussle With Grip 
 
 On a winter evening dreary while I hovered, 
 dreamy, weary, by the fireside warm and cheery, 
 thawing out by marrow bones, suddenly there came 
 a feeling up my spinal column stealing, like an icy 
 tape unreeling through my lumbar-dorsal zones. 
 *"Tis some vagrant breeze," I murmured, ''that 
 around my casement moans in such dismal under- 
 tones." 
 
 Soon my noodle started aching like my cranium 
 was breaking, soon my frame with pain was quaking 
 from the shoulder to the hip. With a vengeance al- 
 most killing I was seized with sudden chilling and I 
 said : "I'll bet a shilling that I've got the proper tip." 
 So far on my pilgrim journey I had given it the slip, 
 but I knew I had the grip. 
 
 Very well do I remember how I spent that bleak 
 December with an ache in every member of this 
 mortal frame of mine. Days were spent in morbid 
 moping, nights were given up to doping, till I had no 
 heart for hoping that the sun would ever shine. 
 "When, O, when," I asked despairing, "can I quit 
 this dope of mine — pills and squills and turpentine?" 
 
 Now I feel a little stronger since the days are 
 getting longer and I see a feathered songer sitting 
 out upon a tree, telling me that spring is coming that 
 will start the bees to humming and I find that I am 
 summing up the joy 'twill bring to me. For I have a 
 sort of notion that I'm on the Wellville trip — that 
 this grip ere long will slip. 
 
 121 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 High Water Time 
 
 River, river, little river, 
 
 Bright you sparkle on your way, 
 While the tadpoles dance and quiver 
 
 And upon your bosom play. 
 
 River, river, muddy river. 
 
 There has been a little rain, 
 
 And it makes me shake and shiver. 
 Lest there come some more again. 
 
 Little river, how you wander 
 
 Over all the countryside. 
 Filling fields and barns and houses 
 
 With your creeping, lapping tide. 
 
 There are turtles in the cellar, 
 There are bullfrogs in the well. 
 
 And the hickory shads are playing 
 Over in the bosky dell. 
 
 Tell me, little river, tell me 
 
 Why you clamber o'er the bank. 
 
 Filling all the land with dampness 
 And a smell so loud and rank. 
 
 River, river, raging river. 
 
 Full of mud and drift and slime. 
 Like the bile upon the liver 
 
 During watermelon time. 
 
 122 
 
BY ALBERT STROUD 
 
 It Isn't Any Snap 
 
 The poet leads a strenuous life as through the world 
 
 he goes, 
 He has to keep his kids and wife in victuals and in 
 
 clothes ; 
 He works throughout the livelong day to build a little 
 
 rhyme 
 And all his genius flies away before 'tis dinner time. 
 The lonely watches of the night he spends awake in 
 
 bed 
 But cannot join his words aright because the muse 
 
 has fled. 
 
 When slow success his efforts crown and he has 
 
 built a verse 
 Then everybody in the town agrees it aint so worse. 
 They ask: "However do you make your thoughts like 
 
 rivers flow ? 
 You have the gift of Billy Shake, who flourished long 
 
 ago. 
 Why don't you write your news in rhyme and fill the 
 
 daily sheet 
 With tales of love and mirth and crime, done up in 
 
 stanzas neat? 
 Why don't you write the ads that way and tell us 
 
 where to go 
 To buy our boots and beans and hay and tickets for 
 
 the show? 
 Say wont you make some poetry about the Kameroons 
 To read at missionary tea on Thursday afternoons?" 
 
 They seem to think a poet's mind is like a sorghum 
 
 tank 
 And all he has to do is grind out verses with a crank. 
 
 123 
 
VERDIGRIS VALLEY VERSE 
 
 The Three Fishers 
 
 Three fishers went strolling away to the creek, 
 
 Away to the creek as the sun went down. 
 
 'Twas a summer night at the end of the week 
 
 And their wives stood watching them out of town. 
 
 For men will fish while the women wait, 
 
 And there's no telling what they will take for bait 
 
 When they stroll away in the gloaming. 
 
 The night went by and they did not come; 
 
 Three anxious women set out on their tracks, 
 
 And they found their husbands so cold and dumb, 
 
 So still and pale on the flat of their backs. 
 
 For men will fish till they get full of booze, 
 
 Then all of their senses they quickly lose 
 
 And their wits go far a-roaming. 
 
 Three fishers went sneaking away to their homes. 
 
 Away to their homes in the early dawn, 
 
 With a throbbing pain in each of their domes 
 
 And three mad women to urge them on.^ 
 
 And when their friends asked what they caught. 
 
 They turned away and they answered naught, 
 
 For they thought of the beer and its foaming. 
 
 H 
 
 124 
 
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