The Canadian Echo – Wiarton, 25 July 1935

The Dirge of the Ex-Vactionist

I’ve just got back from Howdenvale where I holidayed last week;

My arms are brown, my nose Is red, and I look a perfect freak.

My dainty frocks seem far too small, I fear I’ll thro’ them burst

My skirt clings tightly to my legs- I’d shed it if I durst

 

I swear I’ll never go again – coming back is such a bore,

My mind’s not on accounts and codes – but seagulls on the shore.

I do not care that stocks are up, nor streamline cars are swish

The only line that interests me is the one that gets the fish.

 

The pavements hot and dusty tease my callous and my corn,

I long to run along the sands in the cool of early morn.

I hate the noise of street cars that go through the town pell mell,

There is no music half so sweet as the Boarding house cow bell.

 

I love the Cedar Waxwings that on the berries light,

And the orioles in the orchard showing orange in their flight.

The whip-poor-wills sang me to sleep – though I didn’t need a thing,

But now I’m back where sparrows roost and starlings have their fling.

 

I loved to search in fragrant woods where beauty spots are found,

Where lady slippers pitcher plants and lilies red abound.

I loved to watch the sunset glow, and the moon so calm and clear,

Far from the cities’ sounds and scents and Hydro’s electrolier.

 

I grumble as I get to work, then wipe my blinkin’ eye

I just had a bright idea that I think I will give a try

I’ll put away a sum each week out of my blooming kale

And next year have far longer up there at Howdenvale.

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