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A Poem

By Ernest L. Zopple

( Editor’s Note: Mr. Zopple’s verses are sold to papers all over Iowa. He makes an income of $20,000 a year and has a home in Pittsburgh.)

Before we had money, we lived in a flat, The dear little woman and I. There wasn’t no danger of us getting fat, And the cellar was painfully dry. But though we now boast of a house in Duluth And go there in passenger coaches, That house, it don’t seem like the home of our youth, For a home ain’t a home without roaches