Written March 12, 1913 at age 18

The Spring is here, my little child,

The sunshine calls the flowers.

It won't be long before it's mild,

And then the needed showers.

The Spring is best of all the year,

I say without a doubt,

Because I never see a tear,

And seldom sauerkraut.

The Summer days are very warm

I think, all o'er the land.

We, like the wicked flea, do squirm

Upon the briny sand.

But, sure as fate, the Summer days

Expel the Southern winter;

'Tis then we love the sun's warm rays,

And run a rapid canter.