OCR Text |
Show Rippling' Rhymes I J By WALT MASON. j THE GAME. 1 am going to tho park, where tin jH baseball artists play, and I'm blltho as any lark that uplifts Its song today, For a while I can forget, as I -watch them swat the sphere, all tho wean things that fret, and the sigh and sob and tear. There'll bo tlmo to walb tho floor with a weeprag in my hand when this bully gamo is o'er and th visitors aro canned. Oh, our pitcher ii in form, and a mighty arm is his; when that wing gets good and -warn H he'll show wizards how to wlz. Wher H I see him winding up I forget that 1 H must drink sorrow from a bitter cup, that will put me on the blink. I for Hl get that rents are high, that the lard- ""H er's bare of hash, that the childrer wail for pie, clothing, shoes and suo H cotash. I forget the profiteers who H ; havo soaked us left and right, thai H tho bankrupt court appears as the only H thing In sight. For a while I cast aslda H all my brooding and despair, when H see our heroes Blid 'round tho bases M on their hair. When I see the joyous am mob at the hall games, as of yore, II "Well," I murmur, through a sob, "we II are growing sane onco more." ( . fil oo ' ! , HK |