My First Womern
I buried my first womern
In the spring; and in the fall
I was married to my second,
And hain’t settled yit at all!—
Fer I’m allus thinkin’—thinkin’
Of the first one’s peaceful ways,
A-bilin’ soap and singin’
Of the Lord’s amazin’ grace.
And I’m thinkin’ of her, constant,
Dyin’ carpet chain and stuff,
And a-makin’ up rag carpets,
When the floor was good enough!
And I mind her he’p a-feedin’,
And I riccollect her now
A-drappin’ corn, and keepin’
Clos’t behind me and the plow!
And I’m allus thinkin’ of her
Reddin’ up around the house;
Er cookin’ fer the farm-hands;
Er a-drivin’ up the cows.—
And there she lays out yander
By the lower medder fence,
Where the cows was barely grazin’,
And they’re usin’ ever sence.
And when I look acrost there—
Say it’s when the clover’s ripe,
And I’m settin’, in the evenin’,
On the porch here, with my pipe,
And the other’n hollers “Henry!”—
W’y they ain’t no sadder thing
Than to think of my first womern
And her funeral last spring
Was a year ago—