I don’t know how the fishes feel,… That a gay young flapper of a fema… Yet —that’s exactly what she did a… That’ what evr you do you can’t pu… Now that young tom—cod was a dread…

Three gentlemen live close beside… A painter of pictures bizarre, A poet whose virtues might guide m… A singer who plays the guitar; And there on my lintel is Cupid;

My virtues in Carara stone Cut carefully you all my scan; Beneath I lie, a fetid bone, The marble worth more than the man… If on my pure tomb they should gra…

'A shilling’s worth of quinine, pl… The customer demanded. The druggist went down on his knee… And from a cupboard handed The waiting man a tiny flask:

He was my best and oldest friend. I’d known him all my life. And yet I’m sure towards the end He knew I loved his wife, And wonder, wonder if it’s why

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,

Heaven’s mighty sweet, I guess; Ain’t no rush to git there: Been a sinner, more or less; Maybe wouldn’t fit there. Wicked still, bound to confess;

The sunshine seeks my little room To tell me Paris streets are gay; That children cry the lily bloom All up and down the leafy way; That half the town is mad with Ma…

I deem that there are lyric days So ripe with radiance and cheer, So rich with gratitude and praise That they enrapture all the year. And if there is a God b\above,

A bunch of the boys were whooping… The kid that handles the music—box… Back of the bar, in a solo game, s… And watching his luck was his ligh… When out of the night, which was f…

Past ash cans and alley cats, Fetid. overflowing gutters, Leprous lines of rancid flats Where the frowsy linen flutters; With a rattle and a jar,

When we might make with happy hear… This world a paradise, With bombs we blast brave men apar… With napalm carbonize. Where we might till the sunny soil…

The Judgement The Judge looked down, his face w… He scratched his ear; The gangster’s moll looked up at h… With eyes of fear.

Great Grandfather was ninety—nine And so it was our one dread, That though his health was superfi… He’d fail to make the hundred. Though he was not a rolling stone

Lost Kitten Two men I saw reel from a bar And stumble down the street; Coarse and uncouth as workmen are, They walked with wobbly feet.