THE PHILIPPINITIS

My friend, have you heard of the town of Manila,
On the banks of the Pasig River,
Where blooms the wait-awhile flower fair,
And the "some time other" scents the air,
And the soft-go-easy grow?
It lies in the Valley of What's-the-use,
In the province of Let-her-slide.
That old tired feeling is native there,
It's the home of the listless I don't care.
Where the Put-it-off abide.



THE EAST IS A'CALLING

They say that the East is alluring;
The balmy green isles of the sea.
But with all their wild splendor assuring,
They have no fascination for me.

I camped with the boys at Siassi,
Way down in that sequestered isle,
Where the garb of a primitive lassie,
Was naught save a gee string and smile.

I hiked o'er the hog trails of Jolo,
In the blistering rays of the suns,
As the wild savage wielding his bolo,