The Vacation Problem

We always look forward to vacations. But the problem with vacations where do we go? This poem looks at different aspects and places a vacation could take you, but at the end it takes a twist and gives you a thought you may not have considered!


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The Vacation Problem
Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller


The summer days again are here,
And make one glad vacation's near;
Where best to spend it who can know?
The list of places seems to grow;

Attractions varied, promise charms.
At seashore points, and inland farms;
Now better not in haste decide —
Regrets might then the spirit chide.

Resorts along the sea's cool shore
Claim sports peculiar by the score;
The white-brimmed waves' majestic roll
Makes music for a pleasant stroll;

The salt-breeze proves a tonic fine,
And fish respond to hook and line;
Again returns the appetite,
And life seems bursting with delight.

At night the band makes music sweet,
And those who dance find joy complete;
The drift-wood bonfire's ruddy glow
Makes ghostly shadows come and go;

The "clam-bake" parties laugh and sing
'Til sea and earth and welkin ring —
No grinding cares their minds infest,
And mirth swells every heaving breast.

Convention's rules are set aside,
Flirtations there, but few will chide;
Voluptuous sights oft meet the gaze —
Restraint seems scarce a voice to raise —

Extravagance seems quite the thing;
And hard-earned savings soon take wing;
Yet lack of means is ne'er confessed —
The home-trail is shown to such distressed.

E'en dreams of this may fascinate —
Such times are good to contemplate —
But pause a moment — thus be fair.
Let inland life its charms declare;

The curse of this, our modern way,
Is rushing through life's passing day —
For stimulation calls for more.
And beggars Nature's bounteous store.

Here flowers bloom in mossy dell.
And song-birds unmolested dwell,
While fruited bush and leafy tree
Make overtures so restfully;

The city's din is now forgot —
All seem contented with their lot —
The war for gain seems useless strife,
For all Man's needs, earth's harvest's rife.

One ponders on an early day;
When man lived in an easier way —
When there was much less to be done
'Twixt early morn and setting sun;

These hardy men — their hearts were true,
But books and luxuries were few —
That out-door life full vigor lent —
In simple rounds their days they spent.

Their guns unwritten laws enforced,
For honor in their blood-veins coursed —
Their wives were loyal helpmates, too,
And kept the vows their whole lives through;

The landlord knows some thrilling tales,
And thus his guest he oft regales —
And twilight hours too soon are past,
And sleep must claim its own at last.

'Tis hard to make a choice,
Since both their claims have given voice —
The inland mountains, rivers, farms,
Are quite as great as seashore charms;

Just toss up a coin, and then abide
By its chance fall — and thus decide!
But it's very expensive far to roam,
So better be wise and stay at home.

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