Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 13, Issue 656, 15 February 1869, Page 4

Select Poetry.

A CKOOKED STICK. i tflflS just as my grandmother said, vl l And she was a wonderful dame, And most of her sayings so wise and true, Familiar as proverbs became : " You will go through the woods, my child, And think you can take your pick, But you'll And at the last it will be your fate To carry a crooked stick."

Now John was a clever lad, And his love I cannot forget; But 1 turned him off for I said, "I'm young, And I can do beter yet." Then Will was a trifle short, And Reuben a modern Saul, And the years went on till I really thought I should never be wed at all.

I searched through the woods in vain, My beau ideal to find, But there was no type of a perfect man, Like him 1 had in mind. Yet I never a moment thought, As I have learned to my cost, That the love that is late is never so sweet As the love of the heart we've lost.

And 1 think if my foolish days And deeds I could now recall, If I could not marry the one I loved, 1 should never marry at all. My way is rugged enough, And never from thorns quite free, For I'm bound for life to a crooked stick, And am just as crooked as he.

1 joy in a glowing fire; He takes delight in the cold; And opens the doors and windows wide, On purpose to hear me scold. I want every burner lit, And he wants the lights turned dim; But if he makes the house too dark for me, I make it too hot for him.

1 went so far in the woods, The choicest and best I passed, And found, to ray sorrow, I'd have to take A crooked old stick at last. I suppose that I've nought to do But to make the best of my fate, For nothing outside of a miracle Can make what is crooked straight.