OLD SQUIERS by WILLIAM STEWARD GORDON

Old Squiers weighed two hundred pounds
And thirty more to spare,
But his boy was like his mother's folks,
All peaked, pale, and fair.

And he drove an aged buckskin mare,
Hipshot and lame beside,
But the road would never get too steep
For Squiers himself to ride.

And every time he passed our house
They had a hill to climb,
And Squiers would make the boy get out
And walk up every time.

"For 'tis a dirty shame," he said,
As he stopped to let her blow,
"For us big fellows both to ride,
And pull the critter so."

The Squiers tribe are not all dead—
They want the weak to climb,
While their big hulks of thrice the weight
Must ride up every time.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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