Classic Poem

I'm a-goin' to meet my lover at the grindin' of the cane—
At the grindin' of the cane,
At the grindin' of the cane;
He's comin' on his pony in a canter down the lane—
He passes all the purty girls, an' gives his pony rein;
Fer my lover's goin' to meet me,
My lover's goin' to meet me
At the grindin'—at the grindin' of the cane!

I'm a-goin' to meet my lover at the grindin' of the cane—
At the grindin' of the cane,
At the grindin' of the cane;
He gallops 'crost the medders—he canters down the lane,
With not a kiss fer Jenny, nor a wavin' hand to Jane
Fer my lover's goin' to meet me,
My lover's goin' to meet me
At the grindin'—at the grindin' of the cane!

Who wouldn't wait to meet him as he rides—as he rides
To the grindin' of the cane,
To the grindin' of the cane;
With the foam, like snow, a-fallin' from his frisky pony's sides;
An' he'll be the best of husbands, an' I'll be the best of brides;
Fer my lover's goin' to meet me:
With a kiss of love he'll greet me
At the grindin'—at the grindin' of the cane!