The Haymaker’s Daughter

Maud Muller sat upon the porch

And watched each automobile scorch,

The judge went by just like a shot,

But she, she recognized him not.

All kinds of pomp and show to her

Was worrisome, she would not stir.

Time was when she was poor, not now

A queenly calm was on her brow,

And judge or any wealthy jay,

She simply spurned them everyday.

Maud’s father was a farmer who

Knew just exactly what to do;

He cut his crop of hay and sold

It for almost its weight in gold.

And that is why Maud felt so proud

And far above the country crowd.

Sept. 14, ‘10