Song

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"Why do I sing--Tra-la-la-la-la!
  Glad as a King?--Tra-la-la-la-la!
  Well, since you ask,--
  I have such a pleasant task,
  I can not help but sing!

  "Why do I smile--Tra-la-la-la-la!
  Working the while?--Tra-la-la-la-la!
  Work like this is play,--
  So I'm playing all the day--
  I can not help but smile!

  "So, If you please--Tra-la-la-la-la!
  Live at your ease!--Tra-la-la-la-la!
  You've only got to turn,
  And, you see, its bound to churn--
  I can not help but please!"

The farmer pondered and scratched his head,
  Reading over each mystic word.--
"Some o' the Dreamer's work!" he said--
  "Ah, here's more--and name and date
In his hand-write'!"--And the good man read,--
"'Patent applied for, July third,
  Eighteen hundred and forty-eight'!"
The fragment fell from his nerveless grasp--
His awed lips thrilled with the joyous gasp:
  "I see the p'int to the whole concern,--
  He's studied out a patent churn!"

© James Whitcomb Riley