From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 165-166.
DAILIES AND WEEKLIES
I read each day the daily press,
But oftentimes it is a mess.
I do despise the useless daily,
Which with red type is lit up gaily,
But gives us only sins and scandals,
Wild acts of murderers and vandals.
If what they serve for our inspection
Were of our life a true cross section,
I’d think the earth was on the skids
And sliding down toward Satan’s grids,
That Eve’s fair daughters all were scum,
And all of Adam’s sons, by gum,
Were mad with dope and soaked in rum.
But in my daily walks I find
Most folks are patient, true and kind.
They do an honest daily stint
And seldom find themselves in print,
For if they’re short on wicked capers,
They are no asset to the papers.
O, I am glad these wholesome rhymes
Are published in the Billville Times,
That I may air my half-baked views
Within the weekly Homeburg News.
[166]
Jones builds a barn and builds it good,
Then paints it red, I knew he would.
A simple rural tale, and yet,
When printed in the last Gazette,
That item brings to you and me
Some visions others can not see,
Of red barns where we used to play
And jump from big beams to the hay,
Which rose beneath in springy swells,
And filled the air with pleasant smells.
The country weeklies now and then
Print common facts for common men,
The old, old facts of death and birth,
Of love and life upon the earth;
But in a lot of city journals,
Too many shucks come with the kernels.