O THAT INCOME TAX!

I struggled with mine till the midnight hour; My head was that of a fool; My losses and gains, they’re beyond my power, And never the like was, in school. That minus sign was ever my foe From earliest years until now; My modest income, and varied out-go— O they must be figured somehow! I’ll tell you the truth, in the fear of the Lord, I worried and went “sick abed;” Six pages of puzzles and all a sworn word— “O where,” I sighed, “is my head?” “If married,” or “single”—I failed to know: Nor dependent children could tell; For never my mind received such a blow, From such unexpected hell. I always have cherished my Uncle Sam, And thought he was oftenest right; But flooded I was, nor a single dam To check my downward flight. Exhausted I slept, nor just or unjust, Resolving the next day to seek aid; For when I awoke ’twas still, “you must Or penalty dire be paid.” To the revenue clerk I took me straight, And behold, as I looked, I heard A lot of fond fools at Uncle Sam’s gate, Despairing like a caged bird. The officer smiled, and I smiled out loud, For misery loves company; And the smiles were like beams that broke the cloud Of impending, rank perjury. The blanks I filled in from A to O, But omitted the “profits from sale”— I once grew rich with a plow and hoe, When a whistling boy and hale. In those olden days no kind of a tax For City or State revenue Was imposed on boys except a few whacks, But now they forever are due. I swore and I signed and in full I paid That puzzling tax return; Once more I laughed, and again I said, “’Tis always do, and you learn.” And now it is done, and thoroughly done, Halleluia, I’ll get there yet; But by all that’s good and true ’neath the sun, I swear that folly to forget.