|Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne
Had cast her mantle like an old, black sheepskin over
all the earth;
The watch-dog lay beneath the porch and gnawed a
The tired farmer snored for all that he was worth.
High on a limb the wide-eyed owlet sat and
Although his high, falsetto voice was out of tune,
And shrieked in shivering, ghostly accents till it
Up to the cold, refulgent, round-faced moon.
Upon the shore that lined the Verdi's peaceful way
A solitary bullfrog droned his sullen note,
As if the bugs and critters he had eaten through the
Resentful like, were calling from his throat.
The playful pollywog doth now produce encircling
That on the river's rugged shore in angry billows
Anon the speckled rooster cranes his neck and flaps
And bids the slumb'ring, snoozing, sleepy earth
Verdigris Valley Verse
(Coffeyville, Kansas: The Journal Press. 1917)