From the Evening Star, June 25, 1914. By Philander Johnson.
The Oriental dreams about a future blissful state—
Nirvana, which will find him all oblivious to fate.
Mohammed gave his followers a heaven of their own,
Which those with our ideas are inclined to let alone.
There is a heaven for each mortal striving here below;
For some the pace is rapid and some want it rather slow.
I fear my own ideal to a scanty height ascends—
Just let me sit around addressing post cards to my friends.
There’s a gentle satisfaction that is never known to fail
In taking up your pen and sending scenery by mail;
Or if a certain taste for art or humor you’d display,
You can find a funny jingle or a picture bluntly gay.
When weary of this mortal strife, oh, let me find a spot
Where I can scratch a line about the climate, cool or hot,
And somehow, o’er the distance which its strange enchantment lends,
Devote myself to sending picture cards to all my friends!
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