| Show RHYMES OF THE DAY You cannot chooso your earthly lot Nor right all seeming wrongs Tho clam likes not Tho chowder hot But thats whero ho belongs Washington StarS Star-S S S The parlor sofa holds tho twain Miranda Heandahe and hor lovesick swain But hark1 a step upon tho stair And papa finds them sitting there He und she unc Philadelphia Press S 1 5 Tho air Is slowly warming upSpring up-Spring poems arc on tap once more And soon the festive messenger boy Wilt begin to shut the door Chicago News S o S THE RETORT POETIC Hard It must be to write in numbers swelling Thus to an Impecunious poet sneered awl a-wl The while perhaps your stomach Is rebelling Because youve nothing to put Into it To write with empty pocket Lenten larder I giant you that were hard the poet said But harder then I think i youll find It much tho To write f poem with an empty head Denis A McCarthy In New York SunS Sun-S S S THE BUSY MAN Tho days begun I black my shoes and brush my hair I nearly tumble down the stair The hours so late I cannot sparo A minute on my bill of fare Ill have to runT r < t run-T take my place f Inspird by the thought of wage I push my pen from page to page Some problem puts me In a rage Which makes me older than my ago And lines my face I The little lad Who does tho office chores so well Unscts the Ink then hates to tell An agent calls some books to sell I do not buytls Just as well As If I had I Thus does It run Tls hustle bustle morn till night If things aro wrong Just make them wronr J right At last tho fading of tho light Proclaims the coming of tho night My day Is done Now York Sun |
