Classic Poem

I tell ye, Sue, it ain't no use!
 I can't stay, and I won't—
W'y! a feller'd need the widder's cruse
 T' live back here an' stan' the brunt
Of all expenses, thick and thin—
 Too many men—ain't land enough
T' swing a feller's elbows in—
 I 'spose you'll take it kind a rough
But I'm goin' back t' morrer!

It ain't no use t' talk t' me
 Of whut some other feller owns,
I ain't got no grip at all,
 His fire don't warm my achin' bones,
An' then I'm ust t' walkin' where
 There ain't no p'lice 'r pavin' stones—
Of course you'll think I'm mighty sick
 But I'm goin' back t' morrer!

Fact is, folks, I love the West!
 They ain't no other place like home—
They ain't no other place t' rest ,
 F'r mother 'n me but jest ol' Rome,
Cedar County, up Basswood Run—
 Lived there goin' on thirty years—
Come there spring o' sixty-one—
 An' I'm goin' back t' morrer!

I tell ye, things looked purty wild
 On that there prairie then!—
We hadn't nary chick n'r child,
 An' we buckled down to work like men—
Handsome land them two claims was
 As ever lay out doors! Rich an' clean
Of brush an' sloos. Y'r Uncle Daws
 He used t' say God done his best
On that there land—His level best.

No, I jest can't stand it here,
  Nohow —ain't room to swing my cap.
Ye're all cooped up in this ere flat
 Jest like chickens in a trap—
I'm mighty sorry, Sue, but I
 Can't stand it, an' mother can't
If she was willin' wy I'd try—
 But I guess we'll go t' morrer.

'N' when we jest get home agin,
 Back t' Cedar County, back t' Rome.
Back t' Basswood Run an' home ,
 Won't the neighbors jest drop in
When we git settled down an' grin
 An' all shake han's—an' Deacon White
Drive up t' laff that laff o' hisn—
 Mother, let's start back t'night!

The corn is jest a-rampin' now—
 I c'n hear the leaves a-russlin'—
As they twist an' swing an' bow—
 I c'n see the boys a-husslin'
In the medder by the crick
 Forkin' hay f'r all in sight—
An' the birds an' bees s' thick!—
 O we must start back t'night!