Classic Poem

I was walking down by the old
Santee
River
one evening, foredark
fishing I reckon,
when I come on this
swarm of
bees
lit in the fork of a beech limb
and they werz
jest a swarming:

it was too late to go home
and too far
and brang a bee-gum
so I waited around
till the sun went
down,
most dark,

and cut me off a pinebough,
dipped it in the river
and sprankled water

on 'em: settled'em right down,
good and solid,
about
a bushel of
them:

when it got dark I first cut off
the fork branches and
then cut about four foot back toward
the trunk

and I
throwed the limb over my shoulder and
carried'em home.