From The Tacoma Times, January 7, 1913. By Berton Braley. I don’t know nuthin’ about yer books, An’ I don’t much care to know ‘em. I’m scarcely wise to a novel’s looks, An’ I never has read a poem. Them written things is Greek to me, I’m mightily shy on learnin’, But I know the woods, an’ the wind that’s free An’ the smell of the wood fires burnin’. I know the call of the matin’ bird An’ the trail of the stag to water, An’ the ways of the wild things, winged an’ furred, That all of you “wise” folks slaughter. I know the song of the wind at night In the pine trees softly stirrin’, An’ I know the cry of the ducks in flight An’ the sound of the wings a-whirrin’. Do you know the way to pack an’ camp When there ain’t no friend beside you? Kin you keep yer route on an all-day’s tramp With never a trail to guide you? You can’t? Well, mebbe, I’m quite a chump To you an’ yer learned brothers, But let me tell you sir, plain an’ plump, There certainly are some others!