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Cooney Potter

 I inherited forty acres from my Father
And, by working my wife, my two sons and two daughters
From dawn to dusk, I acquired
A thousand acres.
But not content, Wishing to own two thousand acres, I bustled through the years with axe and plow, Toiling, denying myself, my wife, my sons, my daughters.
Squire Higbee wrongs me to say That I died from smoking Red Eagle cigars.
Eating hot pie and gulping coffee During the scorching hours of harvest time Brought me here ere I had reached my sixtieth year.

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