Classic Poem

Old John Clevenger lets on,
Allus, like he's purty rough
Timber. — He's a grate old John! —
" Rough? " — don't swaller no sich stuff!
Moved here, sence the war was through,
From Ohio — somers near
Old Bucyrus, — loyal, too,
As us " Hoosiers " is to here!
Git old John stirred up a bit
On his old home stompin'-ground —
Talks same as he lived thare yit,
When some subject brings it round —
Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last,
Fetched his wife, and et and stayed
All night with us. — Set and gassed
Tel plum midnight — 'cause I made
Some remark 'bout " buckeyes " and
" What was buckeyes good fer? " — So,
Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand
And lit in and let me know: —

" " What is Buckeyes good fer? — What's
Pineys and fergit-me-nots? —
Honeysuckles, and sweet peas,
And sweet-williamsuz and these
Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare,
Growin' round the roots o' trees
In Spring-weather? — what air they
Good fer? — kin you tell me — Hey?
" Good to look at?" Well they air!
'Specially when Winter's gone,
Clean dead-cert'in! and the wood's
Green again, and sun feels good's
June! — and shed your blame boots on
The back porch, and lit out to
Roam round like you ust to do,
Bare-foot, up and down the crick,
Whare the buckeyes growed so thick,
And witch-hazel and pop-paws,
And hackberries and black-haws —
With wild pizen-vines jist knit
Over and en-nunder it,
And wove round it all, I jing!
Tel you couldn't hardly stick
A durn case-knife through the thing!
Wriggle round through that; and then —
All het-up, and scratched and tanned,
And muskeeter-bit and mean-
Feelin' — all at onc't again,
Come out suddent on a clean
Slopin' little hump o' green
Dry soft grass, as fine and grand
As a pollor-sofy! — And
Jis pile down thare! — and tell me
Anywhares you'd ruther be —
'Ceptin' right thare , with the wild-
Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes
Smilin' with 'em at the skies,
Happy as a little child!
Well! — right here, I want to say,
Poets kin talk all they please
'Bout " wild-flowrs, in colors gay,"
And " sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr
Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze" —
But the sight o' buckeyes jis
Sweet to me as blossoms is!

" I'm Ohio-born — right whare
People's all called " Buckeyes" thare —
'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's
Biggest in the world, perhaps! —
Ner my head don't stretch my hat
Too much on account o' that! —
'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand
Sows 'em broadcast ore the land,
With eye-single fer man's good
And the gineral neghborhood!
So buckeyes jis natchurly
'Pears like kith-and-kin to me!
'S like the good old sayin' wuz,
" Purty is as purty does! " —
We can't eat 'em, cookd er raw —
Yit, I mind, tomattusuz
Wuz considerd pizenus
Onc't — and dasen't eat 'em! — Pshaw —
'Twouldn't take me by supprise,
Some day, ef we et buckeyes!
That, though, 's nuther here ner thare! —
Jis the Buckeye , whare we air,
In the present times, is what
Ockuppies my lovin' care
And my most perfoundest thought!
. . . Guess, this minute, what I got
In my pocket, 'at I've packed
Purt' nigh forty year. — A dry,
Slick and shiny, warped and cracked,
Wilted, weazened old buckeye!
What's it thare fer? What's my hart
In my brest fer? — 'Cause it's part
Of my life — and 'tends to biz —
Like this buckeye's bound to act —
'Cause it tends to Rhumatiz!

" . . . Ketched more rhumatiz than fish ,
Seinen', onc't — and pants froze on
My blame legs! — And ust to wish
I wuz well er dead and gone!
Doc give up the case, and shod
His old hoss again and stayed
On good roads! — And thare I laid!
Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod
Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot,
And socked that on! Then I got
Sorto' holt o' him, somehow —
Kindo' crazy-like, they say —
And I'd killed him, like as not,
Ef I hadn't swooned away!
Smell my scortcht pelt purt' nigh now!
Well — to make a long tale short —
I hung on the blame disease
Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort
O' wore it out by slow degrees —
Tel my legs wuz straight enugh
To poke through my pants again
And kick all the doctor-stuff
In the fi-er-place! Then turned in
And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore —
Jis a buckeye — and that's shore n't no case o' rhumatiz
Kin subsist whare buckeyes is! "