The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting)

THE FUGITIVE KISS

How I loved her! There on the gate we'd lean,(The dear, old gate that never gave awayThe loving nothings we were wont to say)From day to day,And sometimes after dark;She was my Angel-Sweetheart, just sixteen.But I was shy! And while I longed to tasteThe nectar of her lips, I was afraidTo draw her to my breast and kiss the Maid:But I essayed!And this is what I drew—"There's Papa with the bulldog, so make haste!"What could I do? The "bark" was flecked with foam,And old man Jones was meaner than a cur;So there I stood 'twixt fear, and love of herAnd didn't stirUntil they came: and thenI kissed them all Good-bye and beat it home.

NEW MEXICAN NATIONAL ANTHEM

My Country vast and grand,Sweet Montezuma Land,My Stingareé.Land of the Knife and Gun,Villa and Scorpion;Land of the Evil OneI weep for thee!Smallpox and RattlesnakesLurk in thy Cactus brakes,And Yellow Jack.Spiders and CentipedesGloat o'er thy murd'rous deeds:To cure thy crying needs,Call Diaz back.Tarantula and FliesPoison your lands and skies:Behold your graves!Carranza's waving beardBy Pancho's Band is feared,And will be till he's shearedOr dyes or shaves.Horned Toads and Vampire Bats,Gilas and Mountain Cats,Where'er you go!Buzzards and Vultures reignOver a million slain;And Mescal is the baneOf Mexico.O, Land of Chili conCarne and Obregon,Let murders cease!Keep Freedom's fires aglowWhere La Frijólés grow;Throw up your SombreroAnd Keep the Peace!

LOVE

ILove is the Mecca of our Heart's Desire:We worship at its shrine and feel its thrill;Burning our Hopes upon its Altar FireTill Passion be consumed, but not until.IIThen Love assumes a calmer mood, when spent—His quiver empty and his bow unstrung—And peers into the pleasing Past, contentTo live, unmoved, his memories among.

STRONGARM'S WATERLOO

Some drive! From tee to green in one: par, three!That's putting proper English on, you see!And, Goodness Golfus! See the ball roll upTo easy putting distance from the cup.Who is this man? Professional, no doubt!He'll "card" a thirty-seven going out;And if he gets the "breaks" he'll make, methinks,A new low record for the Piedmont Links.See with what confidence he wends his wayThe Fairway thru to make his hole out play!The Gallery, expectant, follows thruTo see the Champion go down in two.Then to the ball he makes his last address,(The ball was peeved at what he said, I guess)And pulls his gooseneck back a foot or soBefore he hits the sphere the fateful blow.Alas for human frailty! See it flitAcross the green into the sandy pit!The sighing winds, in protest, moaned Beware!While he invoked the Deity in prayer.And then he played his third, but topped the sphere,The Rubber Rogue responding with a leer.A halo hung around the Stranger's headIt seemed: but, nay! 'twas brimstone fire instead,For what he said, in type is not displayedExcept on fire-proof paper, I'm afraid.Four! Five! Six! But still far from the goal!The Player loses all his self-controlAnd breaks the "goose" in twain: then hark the din,When Caddie trails the ball and kicks it in!Far from the scene of strife the Club House becksThe weary Golfers on their inward treks;

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