From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 101-102.
SIDEWALKS
When gentle spring comes round the bend
When March and April showers descend,
When eager bushes burst their buds,
Our town has forty kinds of muds.
When I wade home from mill or store,
Fair Hannah meets me at the door
And uses certain frigid tones
That chill the marrow in my bones,
“Now, Robert, for the love of Pete,
Do have a heart and wipe your feet.
Before you plodded him yestreen,
My kitchen floor was white and clean,
But when you crossed it left and right
The way you mussed it was a sight;
For you have feet the size of Jumbo
And all of them are thick with gumbo.”
I stop and work with groan and sigh
Beneath my wife’s exacting eye.
My muscles have rheumatic feels
As I twist ’round to reach my heels.
Ere I’m admitted to the shack,
I have lumbago in my back.
If we had walks on every street
[102]
We should not need to wipe our feet.
Let’s bring some cinders and some ashes,
And thus avoid those daubs and splashes,
Or lay some rods of good cement,
Which all our hobnails cannot dent.
Our town will not be safe and sane
Till we have paves o’er hill and plain.
For if we bring home mud, our ladies
Are almost sure to give us Hades.
I am not one of those rash guys
Who dare the lightning of their eyes;
For every gentle dame has power
To make each rain a thunder shower.