Doc Meyers said I had satyriasis, And Doc Hill called it leucaemia— But I know what brought me here: I was sixty-four but strong as a man Of thirty-five or forty. And it wasn’t writing a letter a day, And it wasn’t late hours seven nights a week, And it wasn’t the strain of thinking of Minnie, And it wasn’t fear or a jealous dread, Or the endless task of trying to fathom Her wonderful mind, or sympathy For the wretched life she led With her first and second husband— It was none of these that laid me low— But the clamor of daughters and threats of sons, And the sneers and curses of all my kin Right up to the day I sneaked to Peoria And married Minnie in spite of them— And why do you wonder my will was made For the best and purest of women?