A Heap O' Livin' by Edgar A. (Edgar Albert) Guest
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page 15 of 175 (08%)
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make him glad?
If you're not I hope there'll never come a time you'll wish you had. Just sit down and write a letter -- it will make their heart strings hum With a tune of perfect gladness -- if you'll tell them that you'll come. AT SUGAR CAMP At Sugar Camp the cook is kind And laughs the laugh we knew as boys; And there we slip away and find Awaiting us the old-time joys. The catbird calls the selfsame way She used to in the long ago, And there's a chorus all the day Of songsters it is good to know. The killdeer in the distance cries; The thrasher, in her garb of brown, From tree to tree in gladness flies. Forgotten is the world's renown, Forgotten are the years we've known; At Sugar Camp there are no men; We've ceased to strive for things to own; We're in the woods as boys again. Our pride is in the strength of trees, Our pomp the pomp of living things; |
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