Classic Poem

O BIG Old Tree, so tall an' fine,
 Where all us childern swings an' plays,
Though neighbers says you're on the line
 Between Pa's house an' Mr. Gray's,—
Us childern used to almost fuss,
 Old Tree, about you when we'd play.
We'd argy you belonged to us ,
 An' them Gray-kids the other way!

Till Elsie , one time she wuz here
 An' playin' wiv us—Don't you mind,
Old Mister Tree?—an' purty near
 She scolded us the hardest kind
Fer quar'llin' 'bout you thataway,
 An' say she'll find—ef we'll keep still—
Whose tree you air fer shore , she say,
 An' settle it fer good , she will!

So all keep still: An' nen she gone
 An' pat the Old Tree, an' says she,—
“Whose air you, Tree?” an' nen let on
 Like she's a-list'nin' to the Tree,—
An' nen she say, “It's settled,—'cause
 The Old Tree says he's all our tree—
His trunk belongs to bofe your Pas,
 But shade belongs to you an' me.”