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Show ? - : 1 I More Truth Than Poetry . I By JAMES J. MONTAGUE ' NOTHING TO WORRY AiOUT. Ton often hav heard how the banker Is stirred By ths thought of ths drab little shark Wher he lived aa a boy In purs Innocent Soy Borne forty or fifty year bark. Thar pleasures k found which no plummet could ound. ' Though th eotlag was rough and -aneouth. And he yearns to go beck to ths drab little shack To live ever the days of his youth. Hs ears that to play In th newly mown hay Would be better than money er fame. And bed give all he's got for thst poor lltti cot. But he sticks 'round ths bank, Just th Sams I - Th Congressmen moans In lugubrlons tones Thst he's sacrificed .all that's worth while. That High Office la dross, which Is gained at the loss Of Fortune's bright favoring smlls. -Hs says, with ssd tears, that he's labored for years And that never a chance he haa mieaed To d what la fair by ths people back thsra. But that gratitude doeen't exist Hs ssys that a Ufa of political strife Is quit th rvrss of perfection. But you find that next year hs will duly appear Requesting another election. Th poet repine that to write lovely Unas Is a Job that ths world won't reward : If he kept a small store, he declares, he'd hav mors Of th bonds that ths rich lore t hoard. Re longs to depart from th realm of high art And auction off good corner lots. So that when he la old hall havs diamonds and gold And special built ears snd steam taehta. Bnt eomebow your grief Is but trifling and brief A you list to his plteons cries. For hL write them In rhyme, and yon know all the time That h U keep writing rhymes tin h dleav |