From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 163-164.
WINTER EVENINGS
When winter winds are whistling ’round
And snow is over all the ground,
Beside a fire I love to sit,
An open fire where I can spit.
I smoke and loaf and swap some lies
Or eat some Greenings, Romes and Spies.
O when I open up my face,
That fruit is sunk without a trace.
I take, when I am working right,
A half an apple to a bite.
Yet, though I be a low-brow clodder,
I also need some mental fodder.
Some elevating print I get,
Atlantic or Police Gazette,
And while the evening moments creep,
I read until I fall asleep.
This bard is also fond of Scott;
Those good old novels hit the spot.
Most modern fiction leaves me sad,
But Main Street makes me hopping mad.
Toward all sore spots its finger pokes,
Nor finds the good in common folks.
O friends, I hope your open fire
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Is ringed by mother, kids and sire.
I hope you gather there at times
And read aloud these Rural Rhymes.
It is a pleasant thought to me
That here and there from sea to sea,
From Canada to Mexic border,
Folks grin at jokes I make to order.
And though perchance the verse shows haste,
And jests offend a polished taste,
I pray you take it not amiss,
I’ll be more proper after this.
So in the laugh I hope you share,
Forgetful of your grief and care,
Until you shock your maiden aunts
And bust the buttons off your pants.