Beside the road, beneath a spreading Elm.
A whiskered hobo rested in the shade.
While to his ears came spring-time notes of cheer
The Robin and the Meadowlark had made.
He heard the farmer's lusty "Whoa" and "Haw".
The fresh-turned furrows glistened in the sun.
He watched the farmer's wife take up her child,
And smile, because her planting was near done.
His roving eye strayed o'er the fresh-turned loam,
Where speckled 'biddies' early came to scratch;
Then, picking up his stick, he ambled on,
But sighed, because he had no garden patch.
