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.