The
rural gardener now doth sow
The seeds his congressman hath sent,
They’re
cracked way up to beat the band
By that smooth-talking, polished gent.
If
they turn out to be as good
As promises in campaign days,
As
fruitful as he said they would,
Why, what a crop of weeds he’ll raise!
April
20, ‘09
No comments:
Post a Comment