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Robert W Service - Old Ed
Work rating: Medium

Our cowman, old Ed, hadn`t much in his head,
And lots of folks thought him a witling;
But he wasn`t a fool, for he always kept cool,
And his sole recreation was whittling.
When I`d spill him my woes (infantile, I suppose),
He`d harken and whittle and whittle;
then when I had done, turn his quid and say: "Son,
Ye`re a-drownin` yerself in yer spittle."

He`s gone to his grave, but the counsel he gave
I`ve proved in predicaments trying;
When I got in a stew, feeling ever so blue,
My failures and faults magnifying,
I`d think of old Ed as he sniffed and he said:
"Shaw! them things don`t mater a tittle.
Ye darned little cuss, why make such a full?
Ye`re a-drownin` yerself in yer spittle."

When you`re tangled with care till you`re up in the air,
And worry and fear have you quaking,
When each tiny trouble seems bigger than double,
Till mountains of mole-hills you`re making:
Go easy, my friend, things click in the end,
But maybe `twill help you a little,
If you take Ed`s advise (though it may not sound nice):
Ye`re a-drownin` yerself in yer spittle."
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