• Author: Unknown
• Editor: B-8266
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume V
• Page Number:
• Date: 8 28 1918
• Tags:
• poetry

TO-MAH-TOES (With apologies to a greater Poet)

The shades of night were falling fast, As round the Gallery there passed; A wagon loaded to the guards, With that sad fruit of all back yards, To-mah-toes!

“Oh, say!’’ the captive cried, whats this?" And grasped it in his sturdy fist; The quick eruption made him quail, —To hit your eye it ne’er will fail— To-mah- toes!

The captive wiped his mild blue eye, And viewed the ruins with a sigh; "So pass the glories of this world” He said, and thru the wicket hurled, To-mah-toes!

They are star boarders in the soup; The pot-pie has it’s friendly group; The coffee hath escaped them yet, But will succumb in time, and get, To-mah-toes!

"Oh, touch them not,” the wise one said, "Look not upon them when they’re red; Or they will tie such knots in you, That e’en Doc. Hassell can’t undo,” To-mah-toes!

The captive spurned the good advice, And took, and ate, and in a trice, He knew a meeting of protest, Was being held beneath his vest, To-mah-toes!

The Doctor cut, and probed in vain, He split him with, and ‘cross the grain; He blistered him both front and rear, And took out all his runnin’ gear, To-mah-toes!

But could not find their lurking place, They’d done their work, and left no trace; And so he had to let him die, And o’er him carve the reason why, To-mah-toes!