INGIN SUMMER.





Jest about the time when Fall

Gits to rattlin' in the trees,

An' the man thet knows it all,

'Spicions frost in every breeze,

When a person tells hisse'f

Thet the leaves look mighty thin,

Then thar blows a meller breaf!

Ingin summer's hyere agin.



Kind-uh smoky-lookin' blues

Spins acrost the mountain-side,

An' the heavy mornin' dews

Greens the grass up far an' wide,

Natur' raly 'pears as ef

She wuz layin' off a day,--

Sort-uh drorin in her breaf

'Fore she freezes up to stay.



Nary lick o' work I strike,

'Long about this time of year!

I'm a sort-uh slowly like,

Right when Ingin summer's here.

Wife and boys kin do the work;

But a man with natchel wit,

Like I got, kin 'ford to shirk,

Ef he has a turn for it.



Time when grapes set in to ripe,

All I ast off any man

Is a common co'n-cob pipe

With terbacker to my han';

Then jest loose me whar the air

Simmers 'crost me, wahm an' free!

Promised lands ull find me thar;

Wings ull fahly sprout on me!



I'm a loungin' 'round on thrones,

Bossin' worlds f'om shore to shore,

When I stretch my marrer-bones

Jest outside the cabin door!

An' the sunshine peepin' down

On my old head, bald an' gray,

'Pears right like the gilted crown,

I expect to w'ar some day.



EVA WILDER MCGLASSON.





IN WREATHS OF SMOKE. INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR. facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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