Spring Upheaval

Well, no; I don’t mind working in the
garden,
With the primroses and daffodils
a-bloom,
Quite pleasant; so I’ll—Ooch! . . . I beg
your pardon!
Now, I ask you. Could I know about
that broom?
If you kept it in its place, I shouldn’t
stir it;
And it couldn’t bark my shins there,
anyhow.
Yes; I’ll write out in the garden; I prefer
it;
And I haven’t any time to argue
now . . . .

Nice sun. No wind. The prospect is be-
witchin’.
Tempts one to dream drowsy hours
away.
Tho’ after that foul breakfast in the
kitchen
I thought I’d nurse a bitter grouch all
day . . . .
I’ll have another smoke. The scene’s
invitin’,
The bees are out to sip the first sweet
drop . . . .
Eh? . . . Please don’t interrupt. I’m busy
writin’.
Now, how should I know where you
left the mop?

In lucerne bloom the tuneful spinebill’s
lurking.
Ti-tum-ti-tum. The bush with bloom is
gay . . . .
Hoy! Need you beat that carpet where
I’m working?
Of course, the dust is blowing all my
way! . . . .

All right; I’ll shift . . . . The tuneful
spinebill’s sipping . . .
Lord! What a day for loafing in the
sun!
To lie and dream . . . . Here, this won’t
do! I’m slipping.
And I simply have to get this writing
done.

Hey! You! . . . Don’t let that girl mess
up my study!
What furniture? But I don’t want it
changed!
My papers! . . . Who cares if the floor
is muddy?
I will not have those papers dis-
arranged!
Well, pig-sty, if you please. That’s how
I like it,
And please don’t touch a thing on that
top shelf.
Oo! Darn that bucket! You might know
I’d strike it,
Left there like that! . . . I’ll clear the
desk myself.

There . . . . Now, please leave each
gadget where you find it . . . .
No! I don’t want my desk the other
way!
Now may I have some peace? I’m well
behind it,
And I have to get those verses done
today . . . .
Quiet at last . . . . Such mornings hold
a meaning
For thoughtful blokes . . . . What shall
I write of now?
I know. I’ll do a thing about Spring-
cleaning.
Oh, well, it’s seasonable, anyhow.