James Whitcomb Riley (7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916 / Greenfield, Indiana)
The Little Town O' Tailholt
You kin boast about yer cities, and their stiddy growth and size,
And brag about yer County-seats, and business enterprise,
And railroads, and factories, and all sich foolery--
But the little Town o' Tailholt is big enough fer me!
You kin harp about yer churches, with their steeples in the clouds,
And gas about yer graded streets, and blow about yer crowds;
You kin talk about yer 'theaters,' and all you've got to see--
But the little Town o' Tailholt is show enough fer me!
They hain't no style in our town-- hit's little-like and small--
They hain't no 'churches,' nuther--, jes' the meetin' house is all;
They's no sidewalks, to speak of-- but the highway's allus free,
And the little Town o' Tailholt is wide enough fer me!
Some find it discommodin'-like, I'm willin' to admit,
To hev but one post-office, and a womern keepin' hit,
And the drug-store, and shoe-shop, and grocery, all three--
But the little Town o' Tailholt is handy 'nough fer me!
You kin smile and turn yer nose up, and joke and hev yer fun,
And laugh and holler 'Tail-holts is better holts'n none!
Ef the city suits you better w'y, hit's where you'd ort'o be--
But the little Town o' Tailholt's good enough fer me!
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