IN THE OL' TOBACKER PATCH.





I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to do,

When I think about them days we used to spend

A hoein' out tobacker in th' clearin'--me an' you--

An' a wishin' that the day was at an end.

For the dewdrops was a sparklin' on the beeches' tender leaves

As we started out a workin' in the morn;

An' th' noonday sun was sendin' down a shower of burnin' sheaves

When we heard the welcome-soundin' dinner-horn.

An' th' shadders round us gathered in a sort of ghostly batch,

'Fore we started home from workin' in that ol' tobacker patch.



I'm a feelin' mighty lonesome, as I look aroun' to-day,

For I see th' change that's taken place since then.

All th' hills is brown and faded, for th' woods is cleared away;

You an' me has changed from ragged boys to men;

You are livin' in th' city that we ust to dream about;

I am still a dwellin' here upon the place,

But my form is bent an' feeble, which was once so straight and

stout,

An' there's most a thousand wrinkles on my face.

You have made a mint of money; I, perhaps have been your match,

But we both enjoyed life better in that ol' tobacker patch.



S.Q. LAPIUS.





IN ROTTEN ROW. IN WREATHS OF SMOKE. facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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