Classic Poem

D'you remember Hiram Cawkin,
Lived in York State years ago?
Whut a way he had o' talkin',
How his voice was choked with woe?
Allus on the pint o' dyin'
Allus groanin', gruntin', sighin';
Ask 'im, “Hiram, how's she goin'?
He'd a kinder knit his brow,
An would answer, lookin' knowin':
“Thankee,
I'm enj'yin' poor health now.”

Wan't 'e long an' thin' an' skinny!
(No one ever called 'im “tall”—
Allus “long”) an' so blame' thin 'e
Didn't hev no flesh at all!
Seemed of all ambition lackin',
'Cept to keep 'is jints a-crackin'
An' to tell the folks 'at met 'im—
Made no diffurnce when er how,
So they paused enough to let 'im:
“Thankee,
I'm enj'yin' poor health now.”

Nineteen year er twenty, is it,
Sence you last was back in Wayne?
Year ago I made a visit,
But I'll never go again.
Findin' all my friends departed
Made me feel too heavy-hearted.
Only one man left 'at knew me—
Hiram Cawkin, an' I swow,
'T sounded good when he sez to me:
“Thankee,
I'm enj'yin' poor health now.”

Must be ninety, 'f he's two hours,
Old, y' know when we was young;
Lived on misery. All 'is powers
'Round affliction twined an' clung.
Queer ol' feller; allus groanin,
Gruntin', whinin', sighin', moanin'.
Soon to glory he'll be strayin',
'N' I fancy 'im, I vow,
Buttonholin' saints, an' sayin',
“Thankee,
I'm enj'yin' poor health now!”