g sweet;
Of throbbing heart-songs, tuned to lilting measures;
Of fervent verse--with somewhat halting feet;
Of every dainty Valentine that's fashioned
You've had a rather goodly share each year;
So will you take, in place of love-impassioned
Epistles, something quieter, my dear?
Three words I'll send--that is, if they're enough
To take the place of all that flossy stuff!

Throughout the year life is so full of trouble,
Saint Valentine, alas! is shoved aside;
Beneath grim work the lover's back must double,
And then he lets poor sentiment go slide!
We try to think of what you'd have us say, dear,
But when we've coaxed a good thought half way out,
A money-making idea's in the way, dear,
And then Love's gentle troops are put to rout.
So--with a business missive in each hand--
Will three words do? Or do you more demand?

Gone are the days when troubadors sang daily
Of hearts and flowers, lips and eyes and hair;
We take (I fear) our deep emotions gaily,
And think we haven't time to love or care.
Yet once a year it shouldn't be impossible
To Valentine a little, that is true;
Then gloss the faults of mine you think are glossible,
And I will troubador a bit for you;
So, by the stars that shine above you,
Hark to my valentine, my dear, _I love you!_

BECAUSE--!

This thing of writing "homely verse,"
With country phrases, jokes and slang;
With "jiminies!" "by hecks!" and such,
With "backwoods" odor, taste and tang--
This thing, I say, of making light
Of country life is funny--Not!
I'd like to know where we would be
If farms were all to go to pot!

We talk a lot of "backyard farms,"
"Intensive gard'ning"--"how to raise
All vegetables that you need
On ten square feet in twenty days."
We figure fortunes that six hens
Will bring us--if we keep 'em penned;
And yet, when farmers are the butt
Of jokes, who rises to defend?

I'm weary of this silly pose,
This pseudo-humor, sickly wit;
I will not laugh or even smile
When at the farmers jokesmiths hit.
Especially this time of year
I do denounce it! (Uncle Jim
Out on his farm lives well--and he
Has asked us all to visit him!)

THAT SMILE

I sure do like that kid, although I know
He's rotten spoiled, and ought to be suppressed.
He's boiling over with boy-nonsense! So
The neighbors have no chance to get a rest.
Not bad, you understand; just "some unlucky"
In getting caught at things, once in a wh