Our Back Yard


Peculiar subject this may seem; yet
      not so very strange to me.
Because it proves of interest deep; so
      very much there is to see.
And if you care to take the time, will
      study it this lovely day.
In charming month of all the year, the
      lovely month we know as May.

The grass may prove a carpet good
      unto our feet so soft to tread;
'Mid which the dandelion, choice in
      color, lift their yellow heads
To sort o' stipple-work the page which
     nature printed o'er the land
And left those choice little dots as
      emblems from a master hand.

The apple trees are waking up from
      sleep for months the winter
     through;
Again the pulse is normal quite; again
      the buds may sup the dew
The lends a charm to please the eye;
      no doubt an agent deep in art.
Which through the intellect may bear
      the message to a joyous heart.

The leaves are taking constantly the
     drought which Nature may be-
     stow;
We call it sap, is sweet and pure as
      buds or leaves may wish to know;
Thus through the sunshine and the
      showers the book-mark to the
      spring is seen
That may, perhaps, through summer-
      time unto a rainbow lend a
     beam.

The robins in their gold-trimmed suits
      have woven nests amid the trees
To hold the choice molded eggs, o'er
      which Dame Robin sits with case;

While Mr. Robin pecks and pulls at
      luscious worms, his choice art,
Then takes them by his airoplane to
      Mrs. R. with all his heart.

The tinted tulips have arrived with
      choicest gifts their forms could
      bring;
They show the deepest artist touch,
      the glowing charms of lovely
      spring;
The sacred threads, the sunbeam rays,
      are woven through their suitings
     sweet
Which they disclose while life may
     last; forget we not when they may
     sleep.

The heavens are fair above this lawn;
      a canopy they prove to be,
And lend the many charms of May,
      which through our eyes our
      hearts may see
And gather nectar for the soul, unto
      the time when comes the dawn
Of other spring-time, deeper far, on
      higher plane, on sweeter lawn

            JOHN B. CABLE
     Warren Evening Mirror
     Warren, Pa., May 6. 1918