The mirror. (Stillwater, Minn.) 1894-1925, 1901-05-30
A Sh0rn Poet.

Having at various times BEEN
worried to devise a method of kill
ing time, I have often wondered
how the other fellows manage to
fill up the long Sunday afternoons
when their reading matter ram
short. On making inquiries, I
found that sleep had been adopted.
by the majority as the best method
of shortening the hours. But
through book left me by a friend
who has departed to roam in the
cold, cold world I discovered one
mans way Of improving the OPP
portunity to indulge in the unlaw-
full when nobody could get at him..
He was a poet shorn poet.
L know he was shorn poet be-
cause [ used to see his noble head
obscuring my view at the table,
every day. It was great sur
prise, for he was in appearance
about as poetical as jack rabbit
diving through a hole in a high
board fence, which no doubt you
will agree is a muse inspiring
scene.
Although he frequently is given
to phonetic spelling, and has not
paid very strict attention to the,
meter, using feet or yards as his
fancy dictates, or perhaps his in
ability to secure the correct rhyme,
nevertheless I think few extracts
from his works will prove edify-
ing to the reader. I can only
promise bit here and there, as
the whole would make quite an
extensive volume. The first poem,
seems to be about his best girl who.
is mentioned in several of his.
hearts outpourings. It is en-
titled Loves Memories and is as
follows:
When the somber lites are folling
On the yellow feldes of Korn
And the bObOlink was singing
AS he prazed the dieing day,
When you and me wuz lovers
And our loves wuZ newly borne.
OF see the fragrant orchards treeZ
And smele the new none hay
The layke that lay so soemn-like
And butefuly still
AS though it tride to hide itself
Betwene thoz pastur hills.
Our little bote with setes for too
Half hidden on the shOar,
Wher furst 1 tot her how to fish
And how to uze an ore.
How clere the waters of the layke
Rejecting sOmmer skiZe
Tho not as clere and blue to me
AS my dere lady's eyes.
But angels soon kane to klame
: Her in THAR Happy band.
That is long ago and now see
Her becoming with her hand.
In his next he seems also to be
in retrospective, repentant mood.
for he rambles thus:
Alone in this wide world stand
No one to love me now,
Nor feai a loving mothers hand
Upon my acking brow,
Oil Good once more abide
In my old humble home
And wauk once more by mothers side
AS have often DONE
see her face sOmtimes in dreems,
In dreeming regoice,
For then it sometimes reilly seems
heer my mothers voice.
The poem ends abruptly here,
with these words: "My pen is on,
the bum, so am [ continued in our
next" Farther along 1 find a.
poem of different caliber:
When the Klover in the meadow
Starts to blume in early spring
All the air is full of promise
And the burds begin to sing,
When the brooks and streems and rivers
Flow once more to lake and sea
1t is then we long for nothing
AS we long for liberty.
TinkleTum, TinkleTum.
You will notice much gaiety in
that poem and how melodious is
the final Tinkle Tum.
He will end by giving his own
estimate of his poetical works:
wonder what some folks would say
If they could only kow it,
And read these verses with dismay
Wrote by crazy poet.
If ever you reed some of these
Poor rymes so badly worded,
And if you die of heart disease