Poetry of Kansas

The Rummage Sale.

 The melancholy days have come,
    The saddest of the year,
When Equinox begins to hum,
    And rummage sales appear.
 
A blast is sweeping from the north,
    Jack Frost has found my toes;
And ere I dare to venture forth
    Must don my winter clothes.
 
I've searched the house till I am blind,
    For my good Derby hat;
My winter suit I cannot find,
    Nor that black silk cravat.
 
The swipers were not all devoid
    Of goodness in their souls;
They left my cuffs of celluloid,
    And mittens full of holes.
 
Besides, a suit of porosknit,
    A shirt of calico,
A linen duster torn a bit,
    And shoes out at the toe.
 
But what are these with failing gas,
    No stove for wood or coal,
When down the pike old Boreas,
    Comes with an arctic howl
 
I guess I'll seek in Maine's old woods
    The nude Professor's trail,
And share his wild vicissitudes,
    Till ends this rummage sale.
__J. M. Cavaness.

Jayhawker Juleps
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)
Page 87

 
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March 17, 2004 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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