From the
Farm and Land Realtor Magazine,
October, 1917
I hesitate to make a list
Of all the countless deals I've missed;
Bonanzas that were in my grip—
I watched through my fingers slip;
The windfalls which I should have bought
Were lost because I over thought;
I thought of this, I thought of that,
I could have sworn I smelled a rat.
And while I thinking things over twice
Another grabbed them at the price.
It seems I always hesitate,
Then make up my mind much too late.
A very cautious man am I
And that is why I never buy.
How Nassau and how Suffolk grew!
North Jersey! Staten Island, too
When others culled those sprawling farms
And welcomed deals with open arms—
A corner here, ten acres there,
Compounding values year by year
I chose to think and as I thought,
They bought the deals I should have bought.
The golden chances I had then
Are lost and will not come again,
Today I cannot be enticed
For everything's so overpriced.
The deals of yesteryear are dead;
The market's soft—and so's my head.
Last night I had a fearful dream
I know I wakened with a scream;
Some Indians approached my bed—
For trinkets on the barrelhead
(In dollar bills worth twenty-four
And nothing less and nothing more)
They'd sell Manhattan Isle to me,
The most I'd go is twenty-three.
The redmen scowled. "Not on a bet!"
And sold to Peter Minuit.
At times a teardrop drowns my eye
For deals I had, but did not buy;
And now life's saddest words I pen—
"If only I'd invested then!"
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