124

[Newspaper clipping]
WHY NOT?

Across a hill, a little way,
And down a step or two,
Between tall trees and waving grass,
A little house -- and you.

A gingham apron and a cap,
A wind-blown, witching curl,
Brown, dancing eyes, red, laughing
lips,
And teeth of dewy pearl.

You sing a little lifting song,
It echoes o'er the hill,
It draws me from my plowing, dear,
That soft, enchanting trill.

Across a hill, a little way,
And up a step or two,
A lazy horse, a rusty plow,
Some brown, turned loam -- and you.

A worn straw hat, blue overalls,
Sun-tanned and ruddy face,
A listening look is in your eyes,
Your pose is languid grace.

You dream fair dreams -- perhaps sof
me.
I like it, I'll allow,
But while I dream and sing, I sew --
My dear, why don't you plow?
--Elizabeth N. Hauer.