From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, NewYork: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 19-20.
BEING A BOY
You know the Quaker poet writes
Of barefoot boys and their delights,
Of barefoot boys with cheek of tan
And summer hills o’er which they ran —
Attractive pictures for the jaded,
In rural rhymes that have mine faded;
But of their truth I’m not persuaded.
If at my side some potent fairy,
With wings and wand both waving airy,
Should stop and offer me the joys,
That appertain to barefoot boys,
I’d say “what mischief are you brewing?
Don’t vamp me, dear; there’s nothing doing.
Go off and tempt some other man
To be a boy with cheek of tan.”
My tan was localized in speckles;
I was a boy with cheek of freckles,
Legs scratched with thorns and stuck with stubble
And bruised by stones and other rubble.
I had no money when I would have,
I had no hanky when I should have.
I loved the pretty schoolma’am misses,
[20]
But primer kids got all the kisses,
Or grown-up lads who had the pluck;
And half-grown boys were out of luck.
Too many rocks waylaid my toe;
The new nails took too long to grow.
The thorns of life too oft would prick me,
Too many jackknives used to nick me,
Too many other boys could lick me.
Too many bosses kept me harried;
I have but one since I got married.