Page 41
By Jack Joseph Smith
"The farmer in the dell, the farmer in
the dell" they are singing, three
triangled boys, two of shorter height,
the other not large, but of good
size. The street they are on is
of old brick, as are the lofty
Middle Class homes covered with
ivy. Before their entrances are
directed toward another boy who
is eating of his weenie, not as
they drink of whiskey as they are.
But up the street a beautiful
young girl is intrupted from her
dreams, and coming out of bed she
stares for the first time by her window
in the sillouette of a soft summer
night. Here she trips sharply,
damn you Jack Frost.