“I’ll do the old dump in a day,” He told me in his brittle way. “Two more, I guess, I’ll give to… Before I hit the trail for home; But while I’m there I kindo’ hope

'Twas in a pub in Battersea They call the “Rose and Crown,” Quite suddenly, it seemed to me, The Lord was looking down; The Lord was looking from above,

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.

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,

If dogs could speak, O Mademoisel… What funny stories they could tell… For instance, take your little “pe… How awkward if the dear could spea… How sad for you and all of us,

With barbwire hooch they filled hi… Till he was drunker than all hell, And then they peddled him the bull About a claim they had to sell. A thousand bucks they made him pay…

Father drank himself to death,— Quite enjoyed it. Urged to draw a sober breath He’d avoid it. ‘Save your sympathy,’ said Dad;

He’s yonder, on the terrace of the… The little wizened Spanish man, I… He’s sitting with his Pernod on h… He’s staring at the passers with h… He never takes his piercing eyes f…

We sleep in the sleep of ages, the… The gray moss drapes us like sages… And deeper we clutch through the g… On the flanks of the storm—gored r… We surge in a host to the sullen c…

A pencil, sir; a penny —won’t you… I’m cold and wet and tired, a sorr… Don’t turn your back, sir; take on… I haven’t made a single sale to—ni… Oh, thank you, sir; but take the p…

And so when he reached my bed The General made a stand: “My brave young fellow,” he said, “I would shake your hand.” So I lifted my arm, the right,

Strip Teaser My precious grand—child, aged two, Is eager to unlace one shoe, And then the other; Her cotton socks she’ll deftly dof…

Franklin fathered bastards fourtee… (So I read in the New Yorker); If it’s true, in terms of courtin’ Benny must have been a corker. To be prudent I’ve aspired,

I used to think a pot of ink Held magic in its fluid, And I would ply a pen when I Was hoary a a Druid; But as I scratch my silver thatch

When I am old and worse for wear I want to buy a rocking—chair, And set it on a porch where shine The stars of morning—glory vine; With just beyond, a gleam of grass…