The Blithe Suburbanite

The frost has gone from out the ground,

     And hoes and spades are handy by,

And Boggs, the blithe suburbanite

     Has merry twinkles in his eye.

He sees a patch of garden stuff

     All growing rank and green and tall;

He sees a bin well filled with spuds

     And beets and turnips in the fall.

He hears the robin in the morn

     Caroling on his cherry tree;

He hears amidst his flowery beds

     The humming of the honey bee.

He works him hard, and spends his cash,

     And goes to bed full tired at night;

But no one gets more out of life,

     Than Boggs, the blithe suburbanite.

March 23, 1904