He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors.
Keep all ur troubles in ur own pocket. But, make sure that the pocket has a hole!
For I have had too much Of apple-picking:I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired.
We're either nothing or a God's regret.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart
The test is always how we treat the poor.