His Saving Graces

He might be all that’s bad and mean,

      May be a perfect slouch;

His language it may be obscene,

      May be a chronic grouch.

He may disturb his neighbor’s sleep,

      No literature he kens,

But there’s one thing he doesn’t keep –

      A flock of wand’ring hens.

His windows may be stuffed with rags,

      His roof let in the rain;

He may associate with jags,

      His features may be plain.

He may not travel as he might,

      May be the village raff;

But one thing he has never bought,

      A wheezy phonograph.

He may go Sundays to the lake

      And not go near the church;

He may not think it a mistake

      To try the yellow perch.

He may avoid the high-brow crew,

      May strike a lowly note;

But one thing he will never do –

      He’ll never rock the boat.

He may be out of date and slow,

      He may be narrow viewed;

The other man may get his dough

      Because he is not shrewd.

He may be just a rural green

      But bank on this you can:

He’ll never buy a fast machine

      And kill a brother man.

Aug. 15, ‘10

“Friday”