Edwin Alfred Watrous - The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)

Improvident Nuts
Should Tear a Leaf
From the Squirrel's Diary.

A Heifer on the Railroad Crossing stood
Chewing Contentment's Cud, as heifers should,—
When, rushing madly, "late again," there came
The Noonday Mail. The Heifer was to blame
For choosing her position, I would say,
Because the Engine had the Right of Whey.
The Cow was unprepared! Her switching tail
Failed signally to flag the Noonday Mail.
But why keep beefing over milk that's spilled?
She heeded not the sign and thus was killed.

Heifers with Unprotected
Flanks should not Invite
Rear-guard Actions.

The Busy Bee improves the shining hours
And gathers honey from the fragrant flowers.
When Winter comes, forsaking field and rill,
He hivernates , but lives in clover still.
While Famine stalks without, his Home, Sweet Home
Is stored with tempting food from floor to dome.
He never lacks, nor has to buy, but cells
His surplus food gleaned from the flower-fringed dells.
A thrifty fellow is the Busy Bee
And fortified against Emergency.

A Bee's Ears
Contain no Wax
And he Saves his Combings
Against the Baldness of Old Age.

The Mule is well equipped but lacks the mind ;
His strategy is in his heels, behind.
If pointed wrong, his practice is not dreaded,
But kick he will, no matter how he's headed.
With foresight lacking, hindsight to the fore,
He'll be just simple Mule forevermore;
Without the range or sight he'll blaze away
And thwart his purpose with his brazen bray.
If well-directed effort were his cult
No fortress could withstand his catapult.

A Mule should Conserve
His Ammunition and
Not Shoot-off his Mouth.

The Burglar, have you noticed? never troubles
To look for petty loot in obscure hovels.
He packs his kit and steals adown the road
To Gaspard Moneybags' renowned abode.
He knows the house-plan ("inside" dope, no doubt)
And when he's in , old Moneybags is out .
But Jimmy does not dent the window-sash;
He enters thru the door and gets the cash.
Prepared? Well, yes! He knew just where to look,
For Nora hung the key upon the hook.

Team-work is
The Handmaiden
Of Efficiency.

It pays to be Prepared, you see, and so
The Snail in Armored Car goes safe, tho' slow;
And Alligators in their Coats of Mail
Withstand assaults where those, defenceless, fail.
The Tortoise totes his Caripace around
And dwells in safety where his foes abound;
While Wasps, with poisoned javelins, defend
Successfully their offspring to the end .
A Sheep with ramparts has no thought of fear,
But guards his buttress when his foes appear,
And any Skunk can frighten and harass
An Army with Asphyxiating Gas.

How I loved her! There on the gate we'd lean,
(The dear, old gate that never gave away
The loving nothings we were wont to say)
From day to day,
And sometimes after dark;
She was my Angel-Sweetheart, just sixteen.

But I was shy! And while I longed to taste
The nectar of her lips, I was afraid
To draw her to my breast and kiss the Maid:
But I essayed!
And this is what I drew—
"There's Papa with the bulldog, so make haste!"

What could I do? The "bark" was flecked with foam,
And old man Jones was meaner than a cur;
So there I stood 'twixt fear, and love of her
And didn't stir
Until they came: and then
I kissed them all Good-bye and beat it home .

My Country vast and grand,
Sweet Montezuma Land,
My Stingareé.
Land of the Knife and Gun,
Villa and Scorpion;
Land of the Evil One
I weep for thee!

Smallpox and Rattlesnakes
Lurk in thy Cactus brakes,
And Yellow Jack.
Spiders and Centipedes
Gloat o'er thy murd'rous deeds:
To cure thy crying needs,
Call Diaz back.

Tarantula and Flies
Poison your lands and skies:
Behold your graves!
Carranza's waving beard
By Pancho's Band is feared,
And will be till he's sheared
Or dyes or shaves.

Horned Toads and Vampire Bats,
Gilas and Mountain Cats,
Where'er you go!

Buzzards and Vultures reign
Over a million slain;
And Mescal is the bane
Of Mexico.

O, Land of Chili con
Carne and Obregon,
Let murders cease!
Keep Freedom's fires aglow
Where La Frijólés grow;
Throw up your Sombrero
And Keep the Peace!

Love is the Mecca of our Heart's Desire:
We worship at its shrine and feel its thrill;
Burning our Hopes upon its Altar Fire
Till Passion be consumed, but not until.

Then Love assumes a calmer mood, when spent—
His quiver empty and his bow unstrung—
And peers into the pleasing Past, content
To live, unmoved, his memories among.

Some drive! From tee to green in one: par, three!
That's putting proper English on, you see!
And, Goodness Golfus! See the ball roll up
To easy putting distance from the cup.
Who is this man? Professional, no doubt!
He'll "card" a thirty-seven going out;
And if he gets the "breaks" he'll make, methinks,
A new low record for the Piedmont Links.
See with what confidence he wends his way
The Fairway thru to make his hole out play!
The Gallery, expectant, follows thru
To see the Champion go down in two .
Then to the ball he makes his last address,
(The ball was peeved at what he said, I guess)
And pulls his gooseneck back a foot or so
Before he hits the sphere the fateful blow.
Alas for human frailty! See it flit
Across the green into the sandy pit!
The sighing winds, in protest, moaned Beware!
While he invoked the Deity in prayer.
And then he played his third, but topped the sphere,
The Rubber Rogue responding with a leer.

A halo hung around the Stranger's head
It seemed: but, nay! 'twas brimstone fire instead,
For what he said, in type is not displayed
Except on fire-proof paper, I'm afraid.

Four! Five! Six! But still far from the goal!
The Player loses all his self-control
And breaks the "goose" in twain: then hark the din,
When Caddie trails the ball and kicks it in !

Far from the scene of strife the Club House becks
The weary Golfers on their inward treks;