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Newspaper Page Text
"". 4i C5iW!sa,' - jrt.iir)(-M.,'-i,
THE HOMEWARD TRAIL
By Larry Ho.
Through the qulet"shades of even
ing There come a mighty tramp.
The music of an army
That has broken up its camp.
Solemn-faced and sad of visage
Like a dog with b.usted tail,
The Never-wasses grope along
To hit the old home trail.
l), it's back to the bushes where
they looked so pert and
Back where the rooters never no
ticed awkward feet.
Back, where the grocer trusted
them for things to eat.
O, it's back to the bushes i:i the
Only yesterday they trotted '
From the old fireplace at home
With heads held high, to do or 'die
Wherever they should roam ;
To do or die, that was their boast.
And O, ther surely tried
But as they couldn't do, of course
O, it's back to the bushes where
the happy dreams were
Back where there's moss to cling
on every rolling stone,
Back where the crowd don't kick
because a head is bone
O, it's back to the bushes in the
In Bunkimville they bristled
In the forefront of the fight,
But it seems they carried nothing
Except an appetite
Their batting was all tenderness
Their fielding awful.coarse;
They couldn't steal a base unless
They rode a Charley-horse.
So, it's back to the bushes where
the folks ain't so particular
Back where the pitching is es
Back where the umpire's voice
gives no offense auricular
It's back to the bushes in the
Flub Have 3rou laid anything
by for a rainy day?
Dub The rainbow ties my
wife gave me for Christmas.
It's natural that they died. Boston Herald.