Bill Whittler

Bill Whittler spends his summers where
The breezes gently fan his hair.
A box in front of any store,
Where he can chew, and spit, and roar
About the country and the folks,
(Who are too busy for his jokes),
Suits Bill first-rate, and Bill is there
In time to get the morning air.

In winter time he finds a place,
In some warm corner where his grace
Can masticate and prophesy
On things political, that try
The statesman's wits, or tougher yet,
The problems of the suffragette.
Bill's wife admires her husband Bill,
For Bill's not baA. Sometimes he'll fill
With water her large tub before
He leaves for "settin' "at the store,
Or, thoughtful heart that's failed with good,
He'll carry in a load of wood.

Bill knows the baseball scores complete,
What congressmen will meet defeat,
The time to bud the apple trees,
Or sow the oats or rob the bees,
Just how to plant the corn in spring,
To have the "whoppinest" crop, by jing;
Knows how to plow the tender plants,
And keep the kitchen free from ants.

If he was young again right now,
He'd take some chickens and a cow,
And go somewhere close to a town,
And buy a home and settle down,
And by good management of his,
Would soon be beatin' any biz
Of sellin' goods, (he and his frau),
If he was young again right now.
"To win," says Bill," right from the start,
A wife must always do her part."

^__Ed Blair.