 | WHEN GRAN'PA WAS YOUNG
(A Boy's Thanksgiving.)
My gran'pa 'lowed ole Satan's curse
Had fell upon creation.
An that the world was gittin worse
With ev'ry gineration.
"Why, when I was a boy," said he --
An then he'd tell some story
That allus made him out to be
An angel crowned with glory.
A tinker came Thanksgivin' day
To mend the pots and kittles,
An in addition to his pay
He et his fill o' vittles.
While gran'pa sot and talked around
Of one thing an another
Until the two ole felluz found
They ust to know each other.
"D'ye mind the times," the tinker said,
"We licked the district teacher,
An tarred the Watson baby's head,
An rotten-egged the preacher!
D'ye mind the night we stole the brine
An poured it in the melons,
An hung the undertaker's sign
Jest under Doc McClellan's!
"An say, d'ye mind the Sunday night
'Twas blowin so, an sleetin,
We stuffed the ole church chimley tight
An smoked 'em out o' meetin?
An then, the time we bored the wood
An loaded it with powder,
An no one ever understood
What blowed the stove to chowder."
They gassed along an hour or more,
Not knowin I was layin
A-listenin behind the door
To all that they was sayin.
An never was Thanksgivin day
So full o' real Thanksgivin
As when I heard my gran'pa say:
"By cracky! that was livin."
--- Willis B. Hawkins |
published in the Oakland Republican
November 21, 1901; Oakland, Nebraska |
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