Our Hearts

Our chickens all died,
They had the roop.
Pa...built a garage,
From the chicken-coop.

The cow got thin,
No milk for the crust.
We fed her mainly,
On plain saw-dust.

Our garden came up,
It wilted away.
From the passing fumes,
Of ditch-bank spray.

Now...it is Christmas,
No purse...and no mon.
But we have our blessings,
And won't be out-done.

In our way of doing,
As the beauteous season starts.
We leave home the tinsel,
And are sending...our hearts.


E.P. 1908 - 1989