There once was a farmer
Whose name was Truman Troiler
He lay in sweet slumber
Straw hat tipped over
You'd say he's a dreamer
His eyes ever a glimmer
Of skies much higher
Than the summer fire
Astronaut, or pilot; even a jumper
Just dreams of this toiler
Ninety years later.
Here comes Flora Fickles
A prettyish sort with freckles
Up the dirt she struggles
To meet our dreamer's Carlos
She hopes for daisies or roses
Even riding on those tottering horses
He, per contra, still runs circles
Of woos and sappy pretences
She'll wait till he changes
She'll wait till she ages
Her little broken hearts.
Real stories come not in two
But in threes to make you coo
Look now to Carmen Candoo
Before you say adieu
She's old and grey too
With dreams to rival you
Half climbed to Timbaktu
Tho' too old to follow through
Dreamily sailing yon gondola for two
Never has she a day to be blue
For today's for all who live far from the queue.
