THEY'S a predjudice allus 'twixt country and town Which I wisht in my hart wasent so. You take @3city@1 people, jest square up and down, And they're mighty good people to know: And whare's better people a-livin', today, Than us in the @3country?@1 -- Yit good As both of us is, we're divorsed, you might say, And won't compermise when we could! Now as nigh into town fer yer Pap, ef you please, Is what's called the sooburbs. -- Fer thare You'll at least ketch a whiff of the breeze and a sniff Of the breth of wild-flowrs ev'rywhare. They's room fer the childern to play, and grow, too -- And to roll in the grass, er to climb Up a tree and rob nests, like they @3ortent@1 to do, But they'll do @3anyhow@1 ev'ry time! My Son-in-law said, when he lived in the town, He jest natchurly pined, night and day, Fer a sight of the woods, er a acre of ground Whare the trees wasent all cleared away! And he says to me onc't, whilse a-visit-in' us On the farm, "It's not strange, I declare, That we can't coax you folks, without raisin' a fuss, To come to town, visitin' thare!" And says I, "Then git back whare you sorto' @3belong@1 -- And @3Madaline,@1 too, -- and yer three Little childern," says I, "that don't know a bird-song, Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee! Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky And the green of the fields, and the shine Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye As harty as Mother's and mine!" Well -- long-and-short of it, -- he's compermised @3some@1 -- He's moved in the sooburbs. -- And now They don't haf to coax, when they want us to come, 'Cause we turn in and go @3anyhow!@1 Fer thare -- well, they's room fer the songs and purfume Of the grove and the old orchurd-ground, And they's room fer the children out thare, and they's room Fer theyr Gran'pap to waller 'em round! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 11. IN THE RESTAURANT by THOMAS HARDY IN THIS AGE OF HARD TRYING, NONCHALANCE IS GOOD AND by MARIANNE MOORE HIS GLORY TELL by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR HEART-SONG by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE TO MARY SINTON LEITCH, POET AND FRIEND by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE INDIAN SIGN by BERTON BRALEY |