The Rooter’s Rotary.

The Rooter’s Rotary.
521.7

From the lady dressed in red
With a hat upon her locks
Bigger than the batter’s box,
With a tongue that wags along
From the first tap of the gong;
“Who is that nice looking man
Over there the one that ran?”
“How long innings do they play?”
“How much longer must we stay:
These and other things are said
By the lady dressed in red.
From her picture hat and fuss.
Baseball gods, deliver us!

From the man that used to play
Better than the stars today:
Who declares that in his time
He was on a steady alimb
To the heights of baseball fame
But his folks disliked the game,
So, despite his cherished hope,
He had turned to selling soap-
From this modern Martyr Huss,
Baseball gods, deliver us!

From the knocker on his roost,
Never known to frame a boost,
Ever ready with a “Boo!”
When the liome team throws a shoe:
With a sad and drooping lip
Like a chicken with the pip-
Most of all, from this mean cuss,
Baseball gods, deliver us!
-W. F. KIRK.