Writin’ Back to the Home-Folks
My dear old friends—It jes beats all,
The way you write a letter
So’s ever’ last line beats the first,
And ever’ next-un’s better!—
W’y, ever’ fool-thing you putt down
You make so interestin’,
A feller, readin’ of ’em all,
Can’t tell which is the best-un.
It’s all so comfortin’ and good,
’Pears-like I almost hear ye
And git more sociabler, you know,
And hitch my cheer up near ye
And jes smile on ye like the sun
Acrosst the whole per-rairies
In Aprile when the thaw’s begun
And country couples marries.
It’s all so good-old-fashioned like
To talk jes like we’re thinkin’,
Without no hidin’ back o’ fans
And giggle-un and winkin’,
Ner sizin’ how each-other’s dressed—
Like some is allus doin’,—
" Is Marthy Ellen’s basque ben turned
Er shore-enough a new-un!”—
Er “ef Steve’s city-friend haint jes
‘A leetle kindo’-sorto’”—
Er “wears them-air blame eye-glasses
Jes ’cause he hadn’t ort to?”
And so straight on, dad-libitum,
Tel all of us feels, someway,
Jes like our “comp’ny” wuz the best
When we git up to come ‘way!
That’s why I like old friends like you,—
Jes ’cause you’re so abidin’.—
Ef I was built to live “ fer keeps,”
My principul residin’
Would be amongst the folks ‘at kep’
Me allus thinkin’ of ’em,
And sorto’ eechin’ all the time
To tell ’em how I love ’em.—
Sich folks, you know, I jes love so
I wouldn’t live without ’em,
Er couldn’t even drap asleep
But what I dreamp’ about ’em,—
And ef we minded God, I guess
We’d all love one-another
Jes like one fam’bly,—me and Pap
And Madaline and Mother.