At Zekesbury by James Whitcomb Riley — Read

The little town, as I recall it, was of just enough / dignity and dearth of the same to be an ordinary / county seat in Indiana -- "The Grand Old / Hoosier State," as it was used to being howlingly / referred to by the forensic stump orator from the / old stand in the court-house yard -- a political / campaign being the wildest delight that Zekesbury / might ever hope to call its own.

Through years the fitful happenings of the town / and its vicinity went on the same -- the same! Annually / about one circus ventured in, and vanished, / and was gone, even as a passing trumpet-blast; the / usual rainy season swelled the "Crick," the driftage / choking at "the covered bridge," and backing water / till the old road looked amphibious; and crowds / of curious townfolk struggled down to look upon / the watery wonder, and lean awestruck above it, / and spit in it, and turn mutely home again.