Page:History of Oregon Literature.djvu/699

A Dry Mooly In Strawberry Time
From Rhymes of Our Valley, 1916

Picture a place where the strawberries grow.
 Acre on acre and row on row;
Picture a meadow all carpeted over
 With clover, just bobbing and beautiful clover;
Picture a pedigreed Alderny beast
 Browsing all day on the honey-topped feast;
Picture a mother who's willing to bake
 Short-cake that only a mother can make—
Then answer me true if it isn’t a crime
 To have a dry mooly in strawberry time.

In strawberry time when you like to dream
 Of pouring out cream in a golden stream,
Dripping and trickling and splashing down
 Over a crust of the richest brown,
Into the drooly and mottled flood
 Of short-cake and sugar and strawberry blood.

Picture your having an automobile
 In perfect condition except for one wheel;
Picture a motor-boat built for the race
 Dry-docked on Sahara's unlimited space;
Picture yourself gotten up in your best
 And nowhere to go to once you were dressed;
Picture a hammock, soft breezes, a moon,
 And no sighing mortal with whom you could spoon;
Picture ad lib—and the worst is sublime
 Beside a dry mooly in strawberry time.

In strawberry time when you like to dream
 Of pouring out cream in a golden stream,
Dripping and trickling and splashing down
 Over a crust of the richest brown,
Into the drooly and mottled flood
 Of short-cake and sugar and strawberry blood.