If she drinks, we have taught her. If she smokes, we showed her how. If she has any bad habits, What’s the use to knock her now? For God made man, and God made woman, Both on a different plan. So if women do go wrong, It’s done by us, the man. * * * * * It Used to Be Booze, booze, you’re my guest. You often keep me from my rest; You often make my friends my foes; You often make me wear old clothes; But as you are so near my nose-- Tip her up, pals, and down she goes. * * * * * Memory By Oscar C. Williams. When I review the days we spent up there Upon Youth’s mountain-top, when we had thrilled To the throbbing of a love that God had willed, And sipped together joyously the rare, Rich strangeness of the brimming hours and fair-- When I review all this, those days so filled With life, I realize how much was spilled. We did not mind, we had so much to spare! * * * * * Friend Wife Here’s to the girl I love the best. I’ve kissed her without ’em And I’ve kissed her dressed; I’ve kissed her sitting And I’ve kissed her lying, And--Gol darn her soul-- If she had wings I’d kiss her flying. * * * * * Hold Fast Poet, never chase the dream. Laugh yourself and turn away. Mask your hunger, let it seem Small matter if he come or stay; But when he nestles in your hand at last, Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast. --Robert Graves. * * * * * Sam’s Girl By Charles C. Walts Sam’s girl is tall and slender; My girl is fat and low. Sam’s girl wears silks and satins; My girl wears calico. Sam’s girl is swift and speedy; My girl demure and good. Do you think I’d swap for Sam’s girl? You know darn well I would! * * * * * Good Night You sing a little song or two, You have a little chat, You make a little candy fudge And then you take your hat. You hold her hand and say “good night,” As sweetly as you can-- Ain’t that a heluva an evening For a great big healthy man? * * * * * Twentieth Century Jazz By Carrie Blaine Yeiser I ain’t a-comin’ back Till I know why, I ain’t a-goin to live Where I have to die! Man drifts to earth Like a summer cloud-- Next comes the hearse And a linen shroud. Nailed in a box, Served to the worms, ’Thout bein’ consulted Nor asked to make terms. This thing o’ livin’ An’ dyin’ again, Is same as a hog Cooped up in a pen. He’s got just so long To wallow in swill, So he grunts about-- Never gettin’ his fill.