You'll stumble upon him wherever you go.
His hatchet-like face and his low, rasping voice,
Are never intended to make one rejoice,
Unless it is when he is going away,
And his going prolonged to a permanent stay.
Short-sighted Peter, he lives in the dark,
With owlet and bat, where there's never a spark
Of sunny good nature or song light and gay,
Comes drifting along for to brighten the way.
He grunts when he speaks and his heart fills with
If every faint effort don't show him a gain.
Short-sighted Peter he once joined the Grange,
And spent a whole dollar___he did___of his change.
But his far better half, when she wished to go too
Was told by old Peter it never would do,
For the cost was so great and no greater the gain,
And the paying of dues was a terrible strain.
Short-sighted Peter, no thought but for self,
Sordid and greedy and grasping for pelf,
Seemed to forget when the school year began,
Seemed to forget till his boy was a man,
That the school is the place for the children of ten,
Instead of at work in the place of hired men.
Short-sighted Peter, they'll take him some day,
Up to the churchyard and lay him away.
Then the old farm and the wealth that it gave,
Will be a sweet plum for the lawyers to "save."
If your name is "Peter," it's time for a change;
No short-sighted Peters we want in the Grange.
(Boston: The Gorham Press. 1914)