From The Tacoma Times, June 25, 1913. By Berton Braley. I’m just a bit tired of the city; It’s lost quite a lot of its thrill; I’m sick of the pavements, all gritty, The racket that never is still. I’m weary of plunder and pillage And all of the hurry and whirl. I want to go back to the village And sit on the porch with a Girl. I want to hear picket gates clicking As the young men come over to call, And the deep and monotonous ticking Of the grandfather clock in the hall, To harken to the laughter and singing That comes on the breezes awhirl And the creak of the hammocks all swinging And me on the porch with a Girl! And the leaves would be whispering lowly, And the flowers would perfume the air, And the night would grow quieter slowly, And—gee, but I wish I was there; I s’pose I’d get nothing but blame from The folks in the city’s mad swirl, But I want to go back where I came from And sit on the porch with a Girl!