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The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)
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I left this Vale of Tears to gain repose,
And change, for Harp and Wings, my worldly clothes;
There's no redress, so if I fall from grace
I'll be quite cool enough for either place.
Wed
Bled
Fled
Dead
Nufsed
Go not the way I went, O Mortal Man!
But follow out a more successful plan,
Lest you, as I am now, remorseful be
For imitating U. S. Currency.
For forty cents an hour I slaved
At Delpont's Powder Mills;
And all the money that I saved
Scarce paid my funeral bills.
Erected to our father is this stone:
He couldn't leave the whiskey flask alone;
To Spirit World he vanished from our sight;
We hope he's very snug, and know he's tight.
Above the clouds I sojourn now,
The twinkling stars between,
Because I tried to figure how
To cook with gasolene.
I'm dead all right, but not quite all right dead,
For schemes of vengeance hurtle thru my head;
My wife eloped, a cheating chicken she;
Forsook her nest, and then flew back to me
With all her brood: I love her as I useter
But I'm a-laying for that other Rooster.
I followed Father with the rake
The day he scythed the clover;
So green, he cut me, by mistake
And my heydays were over.
Here sleeps, at last, our little baby Yorick!
We couldn't make him without paregoric.
I'm not averse to being dead,
But this I do despise,—
To have a tombstone at my head
Inscribed with blooming lies:
"A faithful spouse, a parent kind;
Alas, too soon he went!"
But this is all they had in mind—
To get my last red cent.
Assembled here my Wife is, Helen Nation:
'Twas gasoline that caused the separation,
Which shows how very short the mortal lease is,—
I think 'twas lucky to have saved the pieces!
Here let me rest without a sigh or tear,
I've learned my lesson—not to interfere!
If I could live my mortal life agin
I'd be a pussyfoot and not butt in.
My Mother, famous for her pies
Lies buried 'neath this shaft;
I wonder if, in Paradise,
She still pursues her craft?
She'll be too much engrossed, 'twould seem,
In picking on the lyre
To give attention to a scheme
To bake without a fire.
But if perchance she had the dough
And couldn't make it rise,
I'm sure she'd know just where to go
To look for heat supplies.
He called me "Liar!" Like a flash
My honor I defended,
Until his razor cut a gash
So deep, that I was ended.
If I could live my life again
I'd not invite an issue
But say, when villified, Amen!
And thus preserve my tissue.
THE CONQUEST OF THE SUN
The Morning Sun, with golden dart,
Crept to Milady's bed;
And as he drew the screens apart
A halo crowned her head.
Such radiance he'd never viewed;
Enraptured, he surveyed
Her virgin charms: beatitude!
He stooped and kissed the maid.
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Классная книга. Очень многое объясняет, что скрытое реально происходит в человеке