Songs of the soil; a small sheaf of verse from the field where poetry is lived . You folks that has your seasides or your lakes,I often wonder, us plain country jakesAint had the fun youre seekin,Tho* you would think it droll—Well, leastwise we was happy,At our old swimmin hole. The sand that formed our shore lineWas mostly muck and clay;The water sometimes muddyN roiled a bit—but, had the champeen swimmers,N divers, too—my soul—We had most every thrillerAt our old swimmin hole. How deeps she, Jim? youd hollerTo him who first jumped let down till the water

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Songs of the soil; a small sheaf of verse from the field where poetry is lived . You folks that has your seasides or your lakes,I often wonder, us plain country jakesAint had the fun youre seekin,Tho* you would think it droll—Well, leastwise we was happy,At our old swimmin hole. The sand that formed our shore lineWas mostly muck and clay;The water sometimes muddyN roiled a bit—but, had the champeen swimmers,N divers, too—my soul—We had most every thrillerAt our old swimmin hole. How deeps she, Jim? youd hollerTo him who first jumped let down till the waterWould ripple round his chin,*N hold his nose—then sinkin,Jest like a lump o coal,Sodeep—blub, bhib—hed answer;At our eld swimmin hole. You folks that has your beaches,Your seasides or your lakes,I often wonder, us plain country jakesAint had the fun youre seekin,Tho you would think it droll—Well, leastwise we was happyAt our old swimmin hole. ^? ^-C Work and Live-Today Page Twenty-eight The man of whom I who rouses all my ire And makes me w

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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, bookidsongsofsoils, bookyear1922