The Village Blacksmith

by Doris Rail

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The stubborn auto stands.
The smith an angry man is he
With trouble on his hands.
The carburetor seems to be
The cause of all his woe.
He tightens half a dozen bolts
And still it doesn't go.
He sits beside the road to give
His brain a chance to cool
And ponders on his training
At the correspondence school.
And then he starts his job once more
And just be chance 'tis seen
The cause of all his trouble
He's out of gasoline.