Classic Poem

Flesh, if you were stone or tree,
I'd be happier with ye.

When I was young, I slept like stone,
When I was young, I grew like tree.
Now I lie, abed, alone,
And I wonder if 'tis me.

Wake at night and ease me
But it does not please me,
Stick I am, sick I am,
Apple pared to quick I am,
Woman-nursed and queer.
Once I had a sweet tooth,
A sharp tooth, a neat tooth,
Cocked my hat and winked my eye
As the pretty girls went by,
Pretty girls and punkin-pie —
Dear! oh, dear!

Old man's a hoppergrass
Kicking in the wheat.

Can't eat his fill,
Can't drink his will,
Can't climb his hill,
Can't have his Jill.

And, when he talks sense,
Relations say,
" Better let Father
Have his way. "

A stone's a stone
And a tree's a tree,
But what was the sense
Of aging me?

It's no improvement
That I can see.

And the night's long
And the night-sleep brief
And I hear the rustle
Of the fallen leaf,
" Old man Hoppergrass,
Come and see! "

Well, I won't for a little,
Not while I'm me.

But the sun's not as hot
As it used to be.