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!