Poem of the day

A Philosopher
by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

Zack Bumstead useter flosserfize
About the ocean and the skies,
An’ gab an’ gas f’um morn till noon
About the other side the moon;
An’ ’bout the natur of the place
Ten miles be—end the end of space.
An’ if his wife she’d ask the crank
If he wouldn’t kinder try to yank
Hisself outdoors an’ git some wood
To make her kitchen fire good,
So she c’d bake her beans an’ pies,
He’d say, “I’ve gotter flosserfize.”

An’ then he’d set an’ flosserfize
About the natur an’ the size
Of angels’ wings, an’ think, and gawp,
An’ wonder how they made ’em flop.
He’d calkerlate how long a skid
’Twould take to move the sun, he did;
An’ if the skid wuz strong an’ prime,
It couldn’t be moved to supper-time.
An’ w’en his wife ’d ask the lout
If he wouldn’t kinder waltz about
An’ take a rag an’ shoo the flies,
He’d say, “I’ve gotter flosserfize.”

An’ then he’d set an’ flosserfize
’Bout schemes for fencing in the skies,
Then lettin’ out the lots to rent
So’s he could make an honest cent.
An’ if he’d find it pooty tough
To borry cash fer fencin’ stuff.
An’ if ’twere best to take his wealth
An’ go to Europe for his health,
Or save his cash till he’d enough
To buy some more of fencin’ stuff.
Then, if his wife she’d ask the gump
If he wouldn’t kinder try to hump
Hisself to t’other side the door
So she c’d come an’ sweep the floor,
He’d look at her with mournful eyes,
An’ say, “I’ve gotter flosserfize.”

An’ so he’d set an’ flosserfize
’Bout w’at it wuz held up the skies,
An’ how God made this earthly ball
Jest simply out er nawthin’ ’tall,
An’ ’bout the natur, shape, an’ form
Of nawthin’ that He made it from.
Then, if his wife sh’d ask the freak
If he wouldn’t kinder try to sneak
Out to the barn an’ find some aigs,
He’d never move, nor lift his laigs,
He’d never stir, nor try to rise,
But say, “I’ve gotter flosserfize.”

An’ so he’d set an’ flosserfize
About the earth an’ sea an’ skies,
An’ scratch his head an’ ask the cause
Of w’at there wuz before time wuz,
An’ w’at the universe ’d do
Bimeby w’en time had all got through;
An’ jest how fur we’d have to climb
If we sh’d travel out er time,
An’ if we’d need, w’en we got there,
To keep our watches in repair.
Then, if his wife she’d ask the gawk
If he wouldn’t kinder try to walk
To where she had the table spread
An’ kinder git his stomach fed,
He’d leap for that ’ar kitchen door,
An’ say, “W’y didn’t you speak afore?”

An’ w’en he’d got his supper et,
He’d set, an’ set, an’ set, an’ set,
An’ fold his arms an’ shet his eyes,
An’ set, an’ set, an’ flosserfize.

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