Carrie Nation
|
A poor bewildered, half-crazed crone She died, forgotten and alone; And some there were who stopped to scoff When the old dame was taken off, While the busy world went wheeling on Scarce knowing even she was gone. Of course she may have done some good, But then, most any woman could Who had the muscle and a hatchet, With Irish wit as keen to match it; Yet smashing windows so erratic Soon proved her just a plain fanatic. A sort of Jezebel crusader, Like Don Quixote nothing stayed her, - No wonder people shied eggs at her, She seemed to like to watch 'em splatter, And stood like wild things when at bay So sort of fearless, old and gray. And then to die so, after all, Insane and in a hospital, Good God, suppose she had been sane And we who had the rotten brain, I hate to stand on Judgement day Beside that woman old and gray. I'd hate to face the those flashing eyes That scanned a state's hypocrisies And woke a commonwealth to shame with crashing axe and words of flame Until men dare to carry out The laws they made and lied about. |
__________________
Sunflowers
Selected by Willard Wattles
(Chicago: A. C. McClurg. 1916)
Visit the Home Page for Kansas
A service of the Kansas State Library