A Poem Written by a Homesteader-November-1910

Here’s to a Bachelor on a Claim,
To him the days are all the same.
He cooks his meals and makes his bed;
And washes his clothes ‘til his hands are red.
He goes to bed at 9:00 P. M.
And don’t get up next day til ten.
His breakfast then he does prepare
And the last thing he does is to comb his hair
It matters not how the wind does blow
Over the hills, with rain or snow.
He can sit by the fire and read a book
Until his dinner he has to cook.
About once a week he goes to town
And buys supplies for half a crown.
Sunday is long and he stays at home
If noone comes, he’s there alone.
Wondering if the time will come
When he can quit this kind of fun.
His first crop was a failure,
But he got money by mail,
When you can do that, it’s dead easy to sail.
He’ll hold down the place for fourteen months
And if his wad don’t drop
He’ll prove up on his claim and pay for it all
From the proceeds of next years crop?
First Attempt