One Hell Of A Guy!

A young lady named Laura
Fell in love with a poet.
“A poet? What’s that?”
Scowled her Dad.

“Why, he writes and he sings
The most beautiful things.
That’s what, that’s what!”
She was mad.

“But Laura, my honey,
He won’t make any money,
There’s no future in that
(And I’m glad).”

The very next day
In her Dad’s factory
Walked a stranger
With notebook and pen.

He looked somewhat bright
And he said he would write
A story—for news–
Of good men.

So all day he sat,
Noting this, noting that,
And old Papa,
He felt very proud.

His factory’s glory—
A newspaper story!
Why, he almost
Sang it aloud!

At dinner—a bell.
Laura ran to the door!
Her poet was there,
To meet Dad–and more?

With confident step,
Like a Flynn or a Gable,
He went up to Dad
At the table.

“Your story, by poet,
Is ready for press,
And I’ll read it, for you
To judge if it’s best.

“But first you must know
That if Laura says, “Go,”
We’re off to be married
For our happiness.”

Old Dad did splutter,
Half rose from his chair,
But Bob, much faster,
Began reading right there!

“In this factory fine
There’s a wond’rous gold mine
Of men and machines that are great.

“With competence true
They make toasters brand new
With a purpose alive and elate.

“The noise of compressors
Is joy to the hearing,
As lines of assembly charge on,

“While the men at each stand
Work with snap-eyed command
Through a day that is always like dawn.

“So bright gleams the metal!
So swift flow the lines!
So diamond-like all comes together!

“Boxed up and palleted
(Patience, O Customer!),
Truck’s filling, and ready to travel!”

Bob stopped, said, “Well, Sir,
That’s just the beginning.
Now tell me, is it not swell?”

Dad rose from his chair,
Dad rose with a smile,
Dad looked Bob straight in the eye.

“Son,” he began,
“You’re a damn poet-man,
But for Laura, one hell of a guy!

And Laura said, “Go!”

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