Classic Poem

If old Dame Fortune came to-day up in the timber on a hike
An' told me I could have my way, have any treasure that I like—
I wonder just what I would say, for just what blessin' I would strike.

Offhand I guess I'd ask for cash, for money is a handy thing.
I've had enough to make a splash or two myself in town in Spring;
I've drawed my stake an' made a flash an' had my little yearly fling.

Offhand I guess I'd ask for dough, for that's what most men think of first—
The thing that keeps us peggin' so, the thirst that's like a whisky thirst;
The thing that's helped a few I know, an' twice as many others cursed.

I'd ask a million bucks or two, so I could ditch the timber tall
An' know that it an' me was through, the corduroy an' four-turn haul—
That all that I would have to do was spend my money, that was all.

I'd buy myself a house in town with Brussels carpet on the floor;
I'd quit the booze an' settle down an' never hit it any more;
I'd put on style, an' do it brown—for that's, I guess, what money's for.

I'd set an' loaf the time away, I'd start again a-livin' white;
I'd can this dirty pipe of clay an' get a meersch'um that was right;
I'd eat my old three squares a day, an' sleep a good eight hours at night.

But some vacation, so to speak, I'd like to have it now an' then—
To leave my cash an' take a sneak up here along with other men
An', say, put in about a week in this old lumber camp again.

I'd like to just come walkin' in an' find you all a-settin' here,
An' wash in that old pail of tin, an' drink a cup of coffee clear,
An' then git out an' work like sin, just as I've done for forty year.

I'd like to set beside the fire upon the norway deaconseat
An' listen to some sawed-off liar his yarns remarkable repeat;
Or maybe go an' pull a briar, an' then come in an' eat an' eat.

An' let me tell you, my good dame, I'd have you clearly understand
If I can't mootch it just the same to road an' camp an' timberland—
I wouldn't take it, if you came with twenty million in your hand!