Poem by Ernest Hemingway:

I Like Canadians
I like Canadians.
They’re quite different from Americans.
At night, they go home.
Their cigars don’t smell bad.
Their hats actually fit them.
They truly believe they won the war.
They don’t believe in Literature.
They think Art is exaggerated.
But they do have wonderful skates.
Very few of them are very rich.
And when they do get rich, they buy horses
Rather than cars.
Chicago calls Toronto a puritan city.
Yet both boxing and horse racing
Are illegal in Chicago.
No one works on Sunday.
Absolutely no one.
I don’t really mind that.
Only one place is open in Woodbine.
But have you ever been to Blue Bonnets?
If you hit someone with a car in Ontario,
You might end up in jail.
Thankfully, I haven’t done such a thing.
More than 500 people have been killed by cars
In Chicago,
As far as I know, this year.
It’s pretty hard to get rich in Canada.
But it’s easy to earn money.
There are many tea rooms.
But no cabarets.
If you tip a waiter a quarter,
He says “Thank you.”
Instead of bragging.
They let women stand in the trams,
Even if they’re beautiful.
Everyone rushes home to have dinner
And to lock the radios.
They are good people.
I like them.