When Father Wrote A Book

When father wrote a book I guess

     He must have lost his head;

He wouldn’t laugh and wouldn’t talk

     And wouldn’t go to bed.

He set and set and moped around,

     And wouldn’t speak nor look;

We had an awful time at home

     When father wrote his book.

He wouldn’t go a-visitin’,

     Nor ask his friends to call;

He seldom journeyed to the store,

     Nor went to church at all.

He seemed to fall into a trance,

     And joy his face forsook;

A sadness settled over all

     When father wrote his book.

He kicked the dog and ‘shooed” the cat

     Whene’er they tried to pass;

And for a month or so he let

     His farm work go to grass.

He kept us in a constant fear,

     And ma no comfort took;

The only thing he said was “Sh!”

     When father wrote his book.

He knew ‘twould have an awful run,

     And when he went to town

He took it to a publisher

     Who straightway turned it down.

Pa got an awful shock, I guess,

     He showed it in his looks;

And now he’s farmin’ hard again,

     Instead of writin’ books.

April 7, 1901

                                                                                                                                                                                        ‘Father’ John Hall Cone with Joseph Andrews Cone