Promise

By Judson Mitcham

Those back roads traveled me all my life.
Time spent me in idleness, wasted me.

Small towns passed through me, the old
melodies put me on and played me,

and stars used me to reckon with.
Maybe the truth tried to find me out.

A little history learned me. Right away,
it forgot. An odd dream, here and there,

understood me. The same old stories
told me over and over, and my soul

tried to save me, until
the day night walked off into me, alone,

when a promise broke me.

You Tell On Yourself (Author Unknown)

You tell on yourself by the friends you seek,
By the very manner in which you speak,
By the way you employ your leisure time,
By the use you make of dollar and dime.

You tell what you are by the clothes you wear,
And even by the way you wear your hair,
By the kind of things at which you laugh,
By the records you play on your phonograph.

You tell what you are by the way you walk,
By the things of which you delight to talk,
By the manner in which you bury deceit,
By so simple a thing as how you eat.

By the books you choose from the well-filled shelf
In these ways and more you tell on your self.