Uncle Walt [Walt Mason], the Poet Philosopher — John Shaqi
Uncle Walt [Walt Mason], the Poet PhilosopherMason, Walt
General
Uncle Walt [Walt Mason], the Poet Philosopher
Mason, Walt
Poetry
At night you seek your downy bed, and ere you sink to sleep and dreams,
that strange machine you call your head is full of weird and wondrous
schemes; they seem too grand and great to fail; they'll fill your
treasury with dough; but morning shows them flat and stale--I often
wonder why 'tis so. At eve you are a blithesome soul, your future is the
one good bet; you gaily quaff the flowing bowl, or dance the stately
minuet; your joy's obtrusive and intense; but morning finds you full of
woe; you'd sell yourself for twenty cents--I often wonder why 'tis so.
At night you walk beneath the stars, and high ambitions fill your soul;
you'll batter down opposing bars, and fight your way, and win the goal;
but morning passes you the ice, your visions fade, your spirit's low;
you spend the long day shaking dice--I often wonder why 'tis so. At
night you think of things sublime, and inspiration fills your heart; you
think you'll write a deathless rhyme, or cut a swath in realms of art;
but morning finds you looking sick; you feel you haven't any show; you
dig some bait and seek the creek--I often wonder why 'tis so.
_Before and After_
Before the fight the bruiser said: "I'll surely kill that aleck dead! He
thinks he has a chance with me! His gall is beautiful to see. His
friends are betting quite a stack, and say that I cannot come back. I'm
better now, I say right here, than ever in my great career; I'm sound
and good in wind and limb, and I will put the lid on him. Just take it
from me, take it straight; I'm fit to lick a hundredweight of wildcats,
wolves or rattlesnakes; I'll whip him in a brace of shakes!" The fight
was o'er; the bruiser sat, his head too large to fit his hat, his eyes
bunged up, his teeth knocked in; he muttered, with a swollen grin:
"Well, yes, he licked me, that blamed ape! But I was badly out of shape;
I didn't train the way I should; my knees were stiff, my wind no good; I
had lumbago and the gout--no wonder that he knocked me out! But just you
wait ten years or more! I'm after that four-flusher's gore! When I have
rested for a spell, and when my face is good and well, I'll spring a
challenge good and hard, and whip him in his own back yard!"
_Luther Burbank_
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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