by Emily F. Barton
There's a Canton in Ohio and there's one in Illinois,
There's another in Kentucky, where the blue grass waves with joy;
Even "Hoosic," Indiana, claims a Canton of it's own,
While Missouri boasts her Canton, and is waiting to be shown.
There's no Canton in Nebraska, but Wisconsin surely counts,
While the Canton, Colorado, rears it's head among the mounts;
Even in South Dakota we do not have to look in vain,
For here we find a Canton, as we surely do in Maine
In New Jersey, Massachusetts, Tennessee, Minnesota,
Yes, West Virginia, and even China there are Cantons,
As well as way South in Alabama and Georgia,
We find the name of Canton.
But when people mention Canton, none of these comes to my mind,
For up in Maine, there's the Canton, better than all the others all combined.
Yes, a better, grander Canton, that in all ways can surpass
The scores of other Cantons, - I mean Notrab's Canton, Maine.
Thus I'm off for my vacation in the dear old Pine Tree State,
Among the Oxford hills of Canton and the laughing waters of the lake.
Anasigunticook always lures me about this time of year,
Who can wonder that the August days are yearly to me dear.
Mail the Somerville Journals to me weekly
For the next four weeks or more,
Because I never forget my birth-town
While vacationizing at the shore.
|
 |
 |
