From the Rock Island Argus, May 17, 1913. By S. E. Kiser. My pa is not a millionaire, He’s never been elected yet To any office anywhere, There’s lots of things that we can’t get; Ma often wishes we could buy The costly things the neighbors do; The price of livin’ is so high We have to skimp and worry through. I guess my pa was never meant To be a leader in the strife; Ma says he’ll not be president Nor get ahead much in this life. But he can make a whistle, though Just from a piece of willow tree; I wish that you could see the bow And arrow that he fixed for me. My pa gets paid so much a week Because he doesn’t own a store; Ma says if he was not so meek And mild he might be drawin’ more. We have no car nor runabout And nearly always have to save; Ma’s heart is often full of doubt, But pa keeps hopin’ and is brave. Sometimes I help him in the yard When he comes home on Saturdays; I’m sorry he must work so hard And wish that he could get a raise; Most all the time ma needs a lot Of things we can’t afford, and which The neighbors nearly all have got Because they managed to get rich. My pa sometimes takes me away Out in the country for fresh air; We build dams in the streams and play That both of us are boys, out there; Ma says that pa, long, long ago Just got to be a mere machine; I wouldn’t want to trade him, though For any pa I’ve ever seen.