From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 45-46.
THE AD ON THE FENCE
I love my country’s rocks and rills
And feign would move from off her hills
The billboard ads for liver pills.
I love to gaze on some old barn
That stands by wood or rock or tarn.
I love its curves and graceful lines,
Its weathered boards from oaks and pines.
I love its silo, cribs and mows,
Its Plymouth Rocks and brindle cows:
My farm-born heart with pleasure swells
When I inhale its rich, ripe smells.
But O I hate to see its back,
Exposed to road or railway track,
In glaring paint give doubtful dope
On some one’s double-action soap,
Or urge relief from human ills
By chewing sixteen-horsepower pills.
Around yon curve the engine scoots,
And wayworn travelers press their snoots
Against the dusty window-panes,
While tired eyes and weary brains
Drink in the peace of hills and plains.
Forgetting cares and lack of cash,
[45]
They gaze on fields of succotash.
Green growing groves where dryads roost
And babbling brooks their spirits boost.
To keep these haunts for nymphs and Pan,
The bilious billboard let us ban.