The Iconoclastic Rustic And The Apropos Acorn

Reposing 'neath some spreading trees,     A populistic bumpkin     Amused himself by offering these     Reflections on a pumpkin:     "I would not, if the choice were mine,     Grow things like that upon a vine,     For how imposing it would be     If pumpkins grew upon a tree."     Like other populists, you'll note,     Of views enthusiastic,     He'd learned by heart, and said by rote     A creed iconoclastic;     And in his dim, uncertain sight     Whatever wasn't must be right,     From which it follows he had strong     Convictions that what was, was wrong.     As thus he sat beneath an oak     An acorn fell abruptly     And smote his nose: whereat he spoke     Of acorns most corruptly.     "Great Scott!" he cried. "The Dickens!" too,     And other authors whom he knew,     And having duly mentioned those,     He expeditiously arose.     Then, though with pain he nearly swooned,     He bathed his organ nasal     With arnica, and soothed the wound     With extract of witch hazel;     And surely we may well excuse     The victim if he changed his views:     "If pumpkins fell from trees like that,"     He murmured, "Where would I be at?"     Of course it's wholly clear to you     That when these words he uttered     He proved conclusively he knew     Which side his bread was buttered;     And, if this point you have not missed,     You'll learn to love this populist,     The only one of all his kind     With sense enough to change his mind.     THE MORAL: In the early spring     A pumpkin-tree would be a thing     Most gratifying to us all,     But how about the early fall?