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From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 133-134.


[133]

HOPE

Since I was born, from day to day,
I’ve looked ahead along the way,
And all the things to come, by gad,
Looked better than the things I had.
At first I hoped they’d wean me soon
And feed me victuals from a spoon.
When I was one year old come Friday,
Already weary of my didy,
Instead of baby clothes that hamper,
I longed for pants in which to scamper.
At three those things had long been mine,
But, though I liked my britches fine,
The happy future beckoned still;
The boon I craved my cup to fill
Was public school with Brother Bill.
So, in the trail of every prize,
Some new want rose before my eyes —
To have a girl, to wear long pants,
To learn to smoke, to learn to dance.
The only blessing of my life
That satisfies me is my wife.
I’m happy since she came to queen me —
If I denied it she would bean me.
[1] In everything except her kissing
There seems as yet some flavor missing;
But we can bear each galling fetter,
Because we hope for something better.
How should we keep our pep and zest
If we already had the best?
Though every joy that we may win,
Should leave some hungry spot within,
Though every field, far off and fair,
Be rough and rutty when we’re there,
Still do the distant scenes look sweet,
And toward them still we throw our feet.






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