Miss Smith
Miss Smith, I read your story
In the Youth's Companion yesterday.
I've been wondering if I should write you,
And if I did, just what I should say.
First of all, I think it's something
How you built that dug-out on your own.
Believe me, I know it ain't easy
To carve out a place all alone.
Cause I've got me three hundred acres
Now, I know that you don't know me,
That will grow whatever I please.
And I built me a house by a well spring;
A good house surrounded by trees.
And there's no place on this good earth,
No matter how far you roam,
You could ever find a place finer than this
To build a house and a home.
Not even my name. Even so,
From reading your story, I'd venture
There are things you'd be pleased to know.
I ain't never been much for drinkin'.
I like working hard on the farm.
Mostly, I'm church-going Sundays.
And my face would not cause you alarm.
And I've got me three hundred acres
Miss Smith, (May I call you Charlotte?)
That will grow whatever I please.
And I built me a house by a well spring;
A good house surrounded by trees.
And there's no place on this good earth,
No matter how far you roam,
You could ever find a person more willing to try
To make a house a home.
From your story I was happy to find
You are feminine, yet you're courageous;
You're strong and yet you are kind.
I don't know much about courtin'.
I ain't never been nobody's beau.
But today, I'm writing this letter
Cause, Charlotte, I want you to know
That I've got me three hundred acres
That will grow whatever I please.
And I built me a house by a well spring;
A good house surrounded by trees.
And there's no place on this good earth,
No matter how far I roam,
I could ever find a woman finer than you
To make my house a home
Sweet home.