Back to the Old Town

--by a returning tourist from California,
  found in The Bradford Era, 1908

I’m sneaking back to Bradford,
You may jeer me if you will,
But in this role of prodigal
I think I’ve had my fill.

You may boast about your Golden Gate;
And the shimmer of the sea,
Or beauty of your orange groves —
Bradford’s the place for me.

I’m sneaking back to Bradford,
I’m tired of husks and chaff,
I wonder if some friend for me
Will kill the fatted calf?

I do not seek to shun hard work;
I care not much for ease.
But heavens defend me from the pest
of California fleas.

I’m sneaking back to Bradford;
My heart and feet are sore,
Let me but reach the favored spot
And I will roam no more.

My wisdom teeth I think I’ve cut,
I’m wiser day by day;
No more for me in ‘paradise’
Four thousand miles away!

I’m sneaking back to Bradford;
Give me your hottest roast —
I’ll stand the worst that you can say
About the vaunted coast.

I don’t like flowers with earthquakes mixed,
Nor seas that sigh and moan.
When every night will bring a fog
That chills me to the bone.

I’m sneaking back to Bradford
In hope that I may find
The paradise I sought so far
But surely left behind.

O, Bradford, gem of wealth and fame,
Queen city of McKean,
Take back thy weary, erring child,
I’ll never roam again.