Page:Fifes and Drums, Poems of America at War, Vigilantes, 1917.djvu/134

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This year the flowers will have to go. My wife says that we shan't

Steal one more Belgian baby's life. So "Plant, Plant, Plant!"

This year the game is gardens. This year the fad is food.

Gad, if they plow their golf links up I'd cheer the multitude

That have the money habit. If all would take their turn

The butlers and the ladies' maids to weed and hoe might learn.

Say, that's some Cubist picture. My kids declare they can't

Slice up their tennis court. But Ma says "Plant, Plant, Plant!"

Canal sides in New York will bloom. Beside our railroad tracks