The Scottonian . cent, in sound, Which makes divine the world and all its ways;But in the soul real poetry is found, Which shows us life beyond our length of days. —Dick Mealaxd, 22. GET A WIGGLE ON The pollywog lay in his little wet bedAnd thought of the future as he solemnly said:Ill wiggle and wiggle a few times moreAnd perhaps by then, I can hop on the shore. For spring puts ambition in young lifes eyesIt makes love to the flowers and tints the skies;It tells its secrets to bird and bee,And youth, like the pollywog, longs to be free. But the wiggle must come ere he reaches the shore,Or joi
The Scottonian . cent, in sound, Which makes divine the world and all its ways;But in the soul real poetry is found, Which shows us life beyond our length of days. —Dick Mealaxd, 22. GET A WIGGLE ON The pollywog lay in his little wet bedAnd thought of the future as he solemnly said:Ill wiggle and wiggle a few times moreAnd perhaps by then, I can hop on the shore. For spring puts ambition in young lifes eyesIt makes love to the flowers and tints the skies;It tells its secrets to bird and bee,And youth, like the pollywog, longs to be free. But the wiggle must come ere he reaches the shore,Or joins the millions of his kind ;And good hard work is still Gods wayFor the culture of the mind. For the wiggle does wonders in making men—It thrusts them out in the throng;It gives them grit to do their bestAnd to carry their part of the song. For a pollywogs life is a parable,Dont miss it, I pray you, my son,The principle—that he who would arrive,Must get a wiggle on. —Lemon Ade—21. 208 BEPPBanraa COMICS. THE POETS THAT BLOOM IX THE SPRING Now that Spring is here again, each poet fills his fountain pen and writesten yards or more of rhyme as bards have done since Homers time. In summer,winter or in fall the crop of poetry is small; no bard feels any great desire tohammer on his bloomin lyre, for bards are lazy as a class and sting)- with poeticgas. But when the springtime rolls around the poets, humble and renowned, inevry land, in evry clime burst forth in what is known as rhyme. From Bostonto the Golden Gate each bard starts shipping crate on crate of newly finishedspringtime verse thats nine-tenths bad and one-tenth worse. In distant lands beyond the sea, in Tokio and Gay Paree, in Lapland andin Westerville each poet shoves a nasty quill. Yes, Gwendolin, the time is nigh(How does it come? I know not why) when husky men lay round on cots andturn out verse in carload lots; when farmer boys forsake the plow and milkmaidscease to milk the cow; when salty skippers fail t
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, booksubjectschooly, bookyear1921
