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Show I 1 1 i I Walt Mason L 4 I INHERING llLIJES The flies should all be dead when bleak November comes, hut some are on my head, a twiddling of th.-li thumbs And when, for some repose. I to my ( ouch repair, they cltmh around 'my nuse and make me rls- and weRr They're out of season now, and so hHe j no exeusi for cAmping on my brow and tickling like ihe deuce. In sum mcr we expect a plague of Imgs and files; things wouldn't secio correct if .none should greet our eyes, but when , November hrings the frost we've long , desired, the bUSXlngf and th- slings of Incects make US tired. The fllrs I'd 'gladly tench. If I hud half a chance. that there's a time to preach, and ,thcre's a time to dance, and there's h time to crawl upon a mortal's head, land there's a lime to fall and slumber with the dead. All things, when out of dale. are trying to the soul, In sum-, sum-, mertime we hate to blow ourselves ! for cosl. We do not lov e the guy who I jests when Joke are wrong, nor do ! we like the fly that stli Ks around too I long. Leaves have their lime to fall. and roses to depart, the fl upon the 'wall should take this truth to heart |