Nature Sonnets (By the Village Poet)

Now ev’ry evening when our supper’s o’er

     And ma has come into the room to sit

     And read the village paper or to knit,

Pa, if he hasn’t journeyed to the store,

Gets down the old stone pitcher as of yore

     And goes down cellar where the cider is

     And draws it brimming full of juice and fizz,

Then planks himself beside the stove once more.

Ma says she thinks that he would rather eat

     The apples from the barrel, red and fair;

Pa says his teeth are poor, and do not meet,

     And he is tired from his daily toil and care.

“Besides,” he says, “Mirandy, what’s the use

A chawnkin’ apples when you can drink the juice?”

Dec. 1, 1910

Pub. Judge