The Courier-Register, Ann Arbor, Michigan, September 15, 1897
A cross old woman of long ago
Declared that she hated noise:
"The town would be so pleasant, you know,
If only there were no boys."
She scolded and fretted about it till
Her eyes grew heavy as lead,
And then, of a sudden, the town grew still,
For all the boys had fled.
And all through the long and dusty street
There wasn't a boy in view;
The base-ball lot where they used to meet
Was a sight to make one blue,
The grass was growing on every base,
And the paths that the runners made;
For there wasn't a soul in all the place
Who knew how the game was played.
The dogs were sleeping the livelong day—
Why should they bark or leap?
There wasn't a whistle or call to play,
And so they could only sleep.
The pony neighed from his lonely stall,
And longed for a saddle and rein;
And even the birds on the garden wall
Chirped only a dull refrain.
The cherries rotted and went to waste—
There was no one to climb the trees;
And nobody had a single taste,
Save only the birds and bees.
There wasn't a messenger boy—not one
To speed as such messengers can;
If people wanted their errands done,
They sent for a messenger man.
There was little, I ween, of frolic and noise;
There was less of cheer and mirth;
The sad old town, since it lacked its boys,
Was the dreariest place on earth.
The poor old woman began to weep,
Then woke with a sudden scream;
"Dear me!" she cried; "I have been asleep;
And oh, what a horrid dream!"