• Author: Stanton, Frank L.
• Editor: B-7413
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume 5
• Page Number:
• Date: 8 9 1916
• Tags:
• poetry

A POOR UNFORTUNATE

His hoss went dead and his mule went lame; He lost six cows in a poker game; A hurricane come on a summer’s day, An’ carried the house whar he lived away; Then an earthquake come when that was gone An’ swallered the lan’ that the house stood on ! An’ the tax collector, ke come roun’ An’ charged him up ter the holein the groun'! An’ the city marshal—he come in view An’ said he wanted his street-tax, too!

Did he moan an’ sigh? Did he set an’ cry An cuss the hurricane sweeping’ by? Did he grieve that his ol’ friends failed to call When the earthquake came an’ swallered all? Never a word o' blame he said, With all them troubles on top his head! Not him!... He clumb to the top o’ the hill- Whar standin, room wuz left him still- An’, barin’ its head, here’s what he said: “I reckon it’s time to git up an’ git; But, Lord, I hain’t had the meales yit!”