cast-n-flies

Well I did something tonight that I've been putting off for three months. I just hate doing tax returns. Even though we overpay each year and there is some sort of refund due us, I just hate going through the process. This year was a bit more complicated with multiple W-2 forms and unemployment benefits but since we use Intuit's TurboTax, the return was still basically painless. You know something? I am so glad that it's over! If I never had to deal with the government again it would be far too soon.

Hey let's celebrate and go somewhere we've never been before! How about I share with you a favorite poem. I am kind of a closet lover of old poetry. Weird huh? Well here goes. This one is by someone named Joseph C. Lincoln and was written prior to March 1944 which is when the poor guy died.

“Sister’s Best Feller”

My sister’s best feller is ‘most six-foot-three,
And handsome and strong as a feller can be;
And Sis, she’s so little, and slender, and small,
You never would think she could boss him at all;
But, my jing!
She don’t do a thing
But make him jump ‘round, like he worked with a string!
It jest made me ‘shamed of him sometimes, you know,
To think that he’ll let a girl bully him so.

He goes to walk with her and carries her muff
And coat and umbrella, and that kind of stuff;
She loads him with things that must weigh ‘most a ton;
And, honest, he likes it,--as if it was fun!
And, oh, say!
When they go to a play,
He’ll sit in the parlor and fidget away,
And she won’t come down till it’s quarter past eight,
And then she’ll scold him ‘cause they get there so late.

He spends heaps of money a-buyin’ her things,
Like candy, and flowers, and presents, and rings;
And all he’s got for ‘em’s a handkerchief case--.
A fussed-up concern, made of ribbons and lace;
But, my land! He thinks it’s just grand,
“’Cause she made it,” he says, “with her own little hand”;
He calls her “an angel”—I heard him –and “saint,”
And “beautif’lest bein’ on earth”—but she ain’t.

‘Fore I go on an errand for her any time,
I just make her coax me and give me a dime;
But that great big silly—why, honest and true—
He’d run forty miles if she wanted him to.
Oh, gee whiz!
I tell you what ‘tis!
I jest think it’s awful—those actions of his.
I won’t fall in love, when I’m grown—no sir-ee!
My sister’s best feller’s a warnin’ to me!

Now isn't that a fun piece of poetry? I hope you enjoyed it. OK till next time, Bob