Courage mes gars: La guerre est proche. I plant my little plot of beans, I sit beneath my cyprus tree; I do not know what trouble means,

The leaves are sick and jaundiced,… Drift down the air; December’s sky is sodden grey, Dark with despair; A bleary dawn will light anon

‘Why keep a cow when I can buy,’ Said he, ‘the milk I need,’ I wanted to spit in his eye Of selfishness and greed; But did not, for the reason he

Oh happy he who cannot see With scientific eyes; Who does not know how flowers grow… And is not planet wise; Content to find with simple mind

I know a garden where the lilies g… And one who lingers in the sunshin… She is than white—stoled lily far… And oh, her eyes are heaven—lit wi… I know a garret, cold and dark and…

The world is sadly sick, they say, And plagued by woe and pain. But look! How looms my garden gay… With blooms in golden reign! With lyric music in the air,

When I am dead I will not care Forever more, If sky be radiantly fair Or tempest roar. If my life—hoard in sin be spent,

Gas got me in the first World War… And all my mates at rest are laid. I felt I might survive them for I am a gardener by trade. My life is in the open air,

I never kill a fly because I think that what we have of laws To regulate and civilize Our daily life —we owe to flies. Apropos, I’ll tell you of Choo, t…

What guts he had, the Dago lad Who fought that Frenchman grim wi… For nigh an hour they milled like… And mauled the mat in rare old sty… Then up and launched like catapult…

Come out, O Little Moccasins, an… Come out, O tiny beaded feet, and… I’ll play the old Red River reel,… Awake, O Little Moccasins, and d… Your hair was all a gleamy gold, y…

I often wonder how Life clicks because They don’t make women now Like Mammy was. When broods of two or three

Familiarity some claim Can breed contempt, So from it let it be your aim To be exempt. Let no one exercise his brawn

Because I was a woman lone And had of friends so few, I made two little ones my own, Whose parents no one knew; Unwanted foundlings of the night,

In Paris on a morn of May I sent a radio transalantic To catch a steamer on the way, But oh the postal fuss was frantic… They sent me here, they sent me th…