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From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 210-211.


[210]

OPERATED

Like Whitman now I sing myself,
I should be celebrated,
Because this good old dome of mine
Has just been operated.
They took me from my warm, warm cot
And made me go where I would not,
Both first and second times,
And then carved up the good old bean
That writes these Rural Rhymes.
They clad me in a clean white robe
Which covered me but sparsely,
Yea, if you ask me man to man,
It was not modest, scarcely.
I had good cover on my chest,
Good cover on my feet —
The only think I kick about
Is that they did not meet.
O when I reached that clean white room,
I shut my eyelids tight;
If Doc had left a meat axe out,
I aimed to miss the sight.
The gas came flowing to me free,
With gentle, soft persuasion,
[211] Saying they had no need for me
To help on that occasion.
I heard the nurse’s gentle tones,
Speak far away and sweetly,
I heard the doctor’s gruffer voice,
Then faded out completely.
Though my bald head is bandaged up
Until it looks like double,
It’s working well and wrote these rhymes
Without a bit of trouble.
The pretty nurse who keeps account
Of how we spend our time,
At 3:00 A. M. recorded
“The patient wrote a rhyme.”
Doc read the nightly record
And the rhyme which here I give,
Then said “It seems a pity,
But the man will likely live.”






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