From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, NewYork: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 15-18.
IN PRAISE OF PLUMBING
I sing the bathtub and its uses,
Its soap and suds and cleansing juices.
How dear to my heart is its porcelain lining
When Hannah has scrubbed it all clean and all shining,
With nowhere upon it a circle of dark,
Some bather has left for a highwater mark.
How dear to my heart is the hot water faucet,
The rack and the towels that spread out across it.
I stand awhile on one foot first,
Just while the suds are at their worst,
Then teeter ’round upon the other
To rest and cool its parboiled brother.
As soon as I can stand the heat,
I put in both my large, pink feet.
The water still is over hot;
I step around before I squat,
In hopes to find a cooler spot,
And waiting yet another minute,
I gingerly settle the rest of me in it.
When I was young we had no tubs
In which to take our weekly scrubs.
[18]
If pa would bathe he had to pitch in
And pack some water to the kitchen.
When that was hot, he called for Bub
To rustle up a laundry tub.
And there, with lather overlaid,
Cold kitchen drafts upon him played.
Some folks keep warm with fat and loose flesh,
But pa was thin and ran to goose flesh.
He sprung the door a cautious crack;
His deep bass voice rang through the shack
And called for ma to wash his back.
Then slipping in the soapy juice,
He fell and jarred his backbone loose.
O we have griefs and more are coming,
But glory be for modern plumbing.
Our lives of weal and woe are mixtures,
But we have all the modern fixtures.