Under The Sky
Under the sky and sun and the trees again,
Back to the shack and the tispy canoe,
Isn't it good to know pleasures like these again,
Here where the lake glimmers coolly and blue?
Here where we dress--if it suits us to--crazily
Putting on any old thing that we own,
Working or taking things easily, lazily;
Nobody caring how frowsy we're grown?
Think not we're caviling sourly at city life,
Nobody's fonder of cities than we,
Still, it is wearing, a grim and gritty life,
Once in a while it is pleasant to flee,
Far from the heat and the noise and the hurrying,
Out where the restful old camp is our home,
Where the birds chatter and squirrels are scurrying,
Here, where no white lights make glare of the gloam.
Here for a time--like a couple of savages--
We can be free of pretense and disguise,
We can recoup from the frets and the ravages
Which have drawn circles of blue round our eyes;
Here is the scent of the pines in the breeze again,
Here is the sunshine to paint us with tan,
Under the sky and the sun and the trees again,
Gee, but it's good to a wearified man!