Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-07-15
HONEST ABE,
 U. s. M.
Toe Rural MaH Carrier Re
 lafeS a Cose of Poetry.
Copyright, 1903. by c. B. Lewis.1

Copyright, 1903. by c. B. Lewis.1 ~EVERAL times of late when \ & have had mail for Uncle Joe White at the Red Bridge farm
 I noticed that he was looking worried and out of sorts, but asked no questions and he volunteered no in formation until the other day. Then, as drove up, he said to me:
 ''Abe; I'm in a heap of trouble over my son Dan, and want your advice" 'And what's the matter with Dan?' I asked. .- "Well, about four weeks ago he took to poetry, and he's been actin like 'tarna1 fool ever since. I can't get one days work week out O him. He's at that poetry from morning till night, and many night he's up till midnight. He's got an idea that he's a new Ten nyson and that he's going to become great man. I've argued and coaxed and threatened, but it don't do no good.
 Here's some of the stuff he's writ ten, and want you to read it and tell me what you think" .
 The first poem handed up read as fol- lows: .
 She's false to me, the girl loved: - My happiness she's shattered;
 My heart will never love again
 Because my faith is scattered.
 The second one read:
 Talk not to me of life and love,
 Talk not of roses red;
 Talk not of buds and sunny skies,
 But rather of the dead. 1,o }xo anI %ha throw down?" I asked of Uncle Joe.
 ''Not as I know of. He jest seemed to feel that way, you see. Here is one that is different
 The one that was different read:
 ''To arms! To arms!' Sir Henry cried.
 ''To arms, my brave defenders!'
 And each one buokled on his sword And frightened his suspenders.
 Then to the fray Sir Henry rode
 And to the fray was follered, And every time he killed a man
 Most gleefully he hollered
 "I don't know durned thing about poetry explained Uncle Joe, "but I do know when a feller is making a fool O himself That's what Dan is doing now, and want to stop him. I'm not going to board and lodge and clothe him and let him sprawl around on the grass and tinker poetry. He was eating dinner the other day when he jumped up to write this down:
 ssThe flowers of May are nothing to me, And nought are the roses of June; I would lay down and expire for the love
 of Mariah .>4.
 And die in the full of the moon
 ''Abe, is Dan fool or poet2'' asked Uncle Joe as finished reading the above.
 "A little of both, think" replied.
 'fWill he ever git rich as poet?"
 'I hardly think so."
 "Then, durn his hide, he's got to quit this nonsense and git into the cornfeld want to do what's right by my chill dren, Abe, but they've got to do what's right by me.
 Right now, when Dan ought to be hustling with hoe. he's out under an apple tree writing poetry with his tongue hanging out and his eyes rolled up. If you say so I'll go out there and jump him two feet high and scare all the poetry out of him."
 T wouldn't be too sudden, Uncle Joe" answered.
 "How too sudden?"
 "Well, I'd give him little warning a little poetic warning. After I'm gone you might wander out that way and carelessly say to Dan: GA farmer named White he had son,
 And the son he was great poet, And verses wrote he of meadow and lea,
 And fast was the pace he did go it''
 "Yes, Abe, and what else?' asked r Uncle Joe.
 '@Then you can sort O walk around Dan as if you. were looking for some thing in the grass and continue: ''The blossoms of May don't blossom for me; l Unheeded the song of the crow; | The old spotted COW is nought to me now Because of my heart full of woe" That's 1t, Abe. I begin to sec" t'Dan will probably stop writing poet