Classic Poem

I

Ain't takin' no stock in the snow — it ain't what I love an' admire;
I'm jest settin' here in a rickety chair an' smokin' my pipe by the fire.
The trees are like skeletons white that shake in the wind as it blows,
An' out in the black o' the night the hills they look ghostly — Lord knows!

II

Ain't takin' no stock in the snow; but, somehow on other, it seems
With its lonesome-like whiteness, to take me fur back to the valley o' dreams;
An' I'm thinkin' o' friends that have left me — the friends that I loved long ago,
Some of 'em fur an' divided, an' some lyin' under the snow.

III

I'm thinkin' of how, by the fireplace, the good wife was settin' that day
When the snowflakes was fallin', an' rosy the child dren come in from their play;
When I had not a thought that I'd ever be settin' as lonesome as this,
Fur off from the love o' the children come in from the snow fer a kiss!

IV

But mother an' children — where are they? The mother went home long ago
To the place where the light is eternally bright, an' there's never no winter an' snow.
An' the children — they're fur from the home place, an' mostly fergittin to write,
An' that's why I'm feelin' so lonesome in the snow that is fallin' to-night!

V

But it's Life, an I ain't a-complainin', fer the Lord sent me skies that was fair,
An' I'm thankful to-night fer this fire's bright light an' the rest o' this rickety chair;
But I still fall to thinkin' an' sighin', — an' I reckon 'twill always be so,
Till Life's fire is a handful of ashes, an' I pass o'er the hills of the snow.