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Zig-zagging it went
        On the line of the farm,
                And the trouble it caused
                        Was often quite warm,
                                |The old line fence|.
                        It was changed every year
                 By decree of the court,
            To which, when worn out,
     Our sires would resort
|With the old line fence|.
     In hoeing their corn,
            When the sun, too, was hot,
                 They surely would jaw,
                        Punch or claw, when they got
                             |To the old line fence|.
                        In dividing the lands
                 It fulfilled no desires,
            But answered quite well
     In "dividing" our sires,
|This old line fence|.
     Though sometimes in this
            It would happen to fail,
                 When, with top rail in hand,
                        One would flare up and scale
                             |The old line fence|!
                        Then the conflict was sharp
                 On debatable ground,
            And the fertile soil there
     Would be mussed far around
|The old line fence|.
     It was shifted so oft
            That no flowers there grew.
                 What frownings and clods,
                        And what words were shot through
                             |The old line fence|!
                        Our sires through the day
                 There would quarrel or fight,
            With a vigour and vim,
     But 'twas different at night
|By the old line fence|.
     The fairest maid there
            You would have descried
                 That ever leaned soft
                        On the opposite side
                             |Of an old line fence|.
                        Where our fathers built hate
                 There we builded our love,
            Breathed our vows to be true
     With our hands raised above
|The old line fence|.
     Its place might be changed,
            But there we would meet,
                 With our heads through the rails,
                        And with kisses most sweet,
                             |At the old line fence|.
                        It was love made the change,
                 And the clasping of hands
            Ending ages of hate,
     And between us now stands
|Not a sign of line fence|.
     No debatable ground
            Now enkindles alarms.
                 I've the girl I met there,
                        And, well, both of the farms,
                             |And no line fence|.

                                                    A. W. Bellow.

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