A New Year's Time At Willards's
1
The Hired Man Talks
There's old man Willards; an' his wife;
An' Marg'et-- S'repty's sister--; an'
There's me-- an' I'm the hired man;
An' Tomps McClure, you better yer life!
Well now, old Willards hain't so bad,
Considerin' the chance he's had.
Of course, he's rich, an' sleeps an' eats
Whenever he's a mind to: Takes
An' leans back in the Amen-seats
An' thanks the Lord fer all he makes--.
That's purty much all folks has got
Ag'inst the old man, like as not!
But there's his woman-- jes the turn
Of them-air two wild girls o' hern--
Marg'et an' S'repty-- allus in
Fer any cuttin'-up concern--
Church festibals, and foolishin'
Round Christmas-trees, an' New Year's sprees--
Set up to watch the Old Year go
An' New Year come-- sich things as these;
An' turkey-dinners, don't you know!
S'repty's younger, an' more gay,
An' purtier, an' finer dressed
Than Marg'et is-- but, lawzy-day!
She hain't the independentest!
'Take care!' old Willards used to say,
'Take care--! Let Marg'et have her way,
An' S'repty, you go off an' play
On your melodeum--!' But, best
Of all, comes Tomps! An' I'll be bound,
Ef he hain't jes the beatin'est
Young chap in all the country round!
Ef you knowed Tomps you'd like him, shore!
They hain't no man on top o' ground
Walks into my affections more--!
An' all the Settlement'll say
That Tomps was liked jes thataway
By ever'body, till he tuk
A shine to S'repty Willards--. Then
You'd ort'o see the old man buck
An' h'ist hisse'f, an' paw the dirt,
An' hint that 'common workin'-men
That didn't want their feelin's hurt
'Ud better hunt fer 'comp'ny' where
The folks was pore an' didn't care--!'
The pine-blank facts is--, the old man,
Last Christmas was a year ago,
Found out some presents Tomps had got
Fer S'repty, an' hit made him hot--
Set down an' tuk his pen in hand
An' writ to Tomps an' told him so
On legal cap, in white an' black,
An' give him jes to understand
'No Christmas-gifts o' 'lily-white'
An' bear's-ile could fix matters right,'
An' wropped 'em up an' sent 'em back!
Well, S'repty cried an' snuffled round
Consid'able. But Marg'et she
Toed out another sock, an' wound
Her knittin' up, an' drawed the tea,
An' then set on the supper-things,
An' went up in the loft an' dressed--
An' through it all you'd never guessed
What she was up to! An' she brings
Her best hat with her an her shawl,
An' gloves, an' redicule, an' all,
An' injirubbers, an' comes down
An' tells 'em she's a-goin' to town
To he'p the Christmas goin's-on
Her Church got up. An' go she does--
The best hosswoman ever was!
'An' what'll We do while you're gone?'
The old man says, a-tryin' to be
Agreeable. 'Oh! You?' says she--,
'You kin jaw S'repty, like you did,
An' slander Tomps!' An' off she rid!
Now, this is all I'm goin' to tell
Of this-here story-- that is, I
Have done my very level best
As fur as this, an' here I 'dwell,'
As auctioneers says, winkin' sly:
Hit's old man Willards tells the rest.
2
The Old Man Talks
Adzackly jes one year ago,
This New Year's day, Tomps comes to me--
In my own house, an' whilse the folks
Was gittin' dinner--, an' he pokes
His nose right in, an' says, says he:
'I got yer note-- an' read it slow!
You don't like me, ner I don't you,'
He says--, 'we're even there, you know!
But you've said, furder that no gal
Of yourn kin marry me, er shall,
An' I'd best shet off comin', too!'
An' then he says--, 'Well, them's Your views--;
But havin' talked with S'repty, we
Have both agreed to disagree
With your peculiar notions-- some;
An', that s the reason, I refuse
To quit a-comin' here, but come--
Not fer to threat, ner raise no skeer
An' spile yer turkey-dinner here--,
But jes fer S'repty's sake, to sheer
Yer New Year's. Shall I take a cheer?'
Well, blame-don! Ef I ever see
Sich impidence! I couldn't say
Not nary word! But Mother she
Sot out a cheer fer Tomps, an' they
Shuk hands an' turnt their back on me.
Then I riz-- mad as mad could be--!
But Marg'et says--, 'Now, Pap! You set
Right where you're settin'--! Don't you fret!
An' Tomps-- you warm yer feet!' says she,
'An throw yer mitts an' comfert on
The bed there! Where is S'repty gone!
The cabbage is a-scortchin'! Ma,
Stop cryin' there an' stir the slaw!'
Well--! What was Mother cryin' fer--?
I half riz up-- but Marg'et's chin
Hit squared-- an' I set down ag'in--
I allus was afeard o' her,
I was, by jucks! So there I set,
Betwixt a sinkin'-chill an' sweat,
An' scuffled with my wrath, an' shet
My teeth to mighty tight, you bet!
An' yit, fer all that I could do,
I eeched to jes git up an' whet
The carvin'-knife a rasp er two
On Tomps's ribs-- an' so would you--!
Fer he had riz an' faced around,
An' stood there, smilin', as they brung
The turkey in, all stuffed an' browned--
Too sweet fer nose, er tooth, er tongue!
With sniffs o' sage, an' p'r'aps a dash
Of old burnt brandy, steamin'-hot
Mixed kindo' in with apple-mash
An' mince-meat, an' the Lord knows what!
Nobody was a-talkin' then,
To 'filiate any awk'ardness--
No noise o' any kind but jes
The rattle o' the dishes when
They'd fetch 'em in an' set 'em down,
An' fix an' change 'em round an' round,
Like women does-- till Mother says--,
'Vittels is ready; Abner, call
Down S'repty-- she's up-stairs, I guess--.'
And Marg'et she says, 'Ef you bawl
Like that, she'll not come down at all!
Besides, we needn't wait till she
Gits down! Here Temps, set down by me,
An' Pap: say grace...!' Well, there I was--!
What could I do! I drapped my head
Behind my fists an' groaned; an' said--:
'Indulgent Parent! In Thy cause
We bow the head an' bend the knee
An' break the bread, an' pour the wine,
Feelin'--' (The stair-door suddently
Went bang! An' S'repty flounced by me--)
'Feelin',' I says, 'this feast is Thine--
This New Year's feast--' an' rap-rap-rap!
Went Marg'ets case-knife on her plate--
An' next, I heerd a sasser drap--,
Then I looked up, an' strange to state,
There S'repty set in Tomps lap--
An' huggin' him, as shore as fate!
An' Mother kissin' him k-slap!
An' Marg'et-- she chips in to drap
The ruther peert remark to me--:
'That 'grace' o' yourn,' she says, 'won't 'gee'--
This hain't no 'New Year's feast,'' says she--,
'This is a' Infair-Dinner, Pap!'
An' so it was--! Be'n married fer
Purt' nigh a week--! 'Twas Marg'et planned
The whole thing fer 'em, through an' through.
I'm rickonciled; an' understand,
I take things jes as they occur--,
Ef Marg'et liked Tomps, Tomps 'ud do--!
But I-says-I, a-holt his hand--,
'I'm glad you didn't marry Her--
'Cause Marg'et's my guardeen-- yes-sir--!
An' S'repty's good enough fer you!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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His Mother's Way
Tomps 'ud allus haf to say
Somepin' 'bout 'his mother's way.'--
_He_ lived hard-like--never jined
Any church of any kind.--
'It was Mother's way,' says he,
'To be good enough fer _me_
And her too,--and certinly
Lord has heerd _her_ pray!'
Propped up on his dyin' bed,--
'Shore as Heaven's overhead,
I'm a-goin' there,' he said---
'It was Mother's way.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Old Home By The Mill
This is 'The old Home by the Mill'--far we still call it so,
Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago.
The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few
Old cat-tails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you!
Here, Marg'et, fetch the man a tin to drink out of' Our spring
Keeps kindo-sorto cavin' in, but don't 'taste' anything!
She's kindo agein', Marg'et is--'the old process,' like me,
All ham-stringed up with rheumatiz, and on in seventy-three.
Jes' me and Marg'et lives alone here--like in long ago;
The childern all put off and gone, and married, don't you know?
One's millin' way out West somewhere; two other miller-boys
In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise.
The oldest gyrl--the first that went--married and died right here;
The next lives in Winn's Settlement--for purt' nigh thirty year!
And youngest one--was allus far the old home here--but no!--
Her man turns in and he packs her 'way off to Idyho!
I don't miss them like _Marg'et_ does--'cause I got _her_, you see;
And when she pines for them--that's 'cause _she's_ only jes' got
_me_!
I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.--But talkin' sense, I'll say,
When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed the t'other way!
I haint so favorble impressed 'bout dyin'; but ef I
Found I was only second-best when _us two_ come to die,
I'd 'dopt the 'new process' in full, ef _Marg'et_ died, you see,--
I'd jes' crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Nothin' To Say
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way!
Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks objected to me--
Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother--where is she?
You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size;
And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes:
Like her, too, about _livin_' here,--because _she_ couldn't stay:
It'll 'most seem like you was dead--like her!--But I hain't got nothin' to say!
She left you her little Bible--writ yer name acrost the page--
And left her ear bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age.
I've allus kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away--
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wasn't a year old then!
And now yer--how old _air_ you? W'y, child, not '_twenty_!' When?
And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that day?
... I wisht yer mother was livin'!--But--I hain't got nothin' to say!
Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found!
There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there--I'll bresh it off--turn round.
(Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!)
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Mylo Jones's Wife
'Mylo Jones's wife' was all
I heerd, mighty near, last Fall--
Visitun relations down
T'other side of Morgantown!
Mylo Jones's wife she does
This and that, and 'those' and 'thus'!--
Can't 'bide babies in her sight--
Ner no childern, day and night,
Whoopin' round the premises--
NER NO NOTHIN' ELSE, I guess!
Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows
She's the boss of her own house!--
Mylo--consequences is--
Stays whare things seem SOME like HIS,--
Uses, mostly, with the stock--
Coaxin' 'Old Kate' not to balk,
Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner
Act, I s'pose, so much like HER!
Yit the wimmern-folks tells you
She's PERFECTION.--Yes they do!
Mylo's wife she says she's found
Home hain't home with MEN-FOLKS round
When they's work like HERN to do-
Picklin' pears and BUTCHERN, too,
And a-rendern lard, and then
Cookin' fer a pack of men
To come trackin' up the flore
SHE'S scrubbed TEL she'll scrub no MORE!--
Yit she'd keep things clean ef they
Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!
Mylo Jones's wife she sews
Carpet-rags and patches clothes
Jest year IN and OUT!--and yit
Whare's the livin' use of it?
She asts Mylo that.--And he
Gits back whare he'd ruther be,
With his team;--jest PLOWS--and don't
Never sware--like some folks won't!
Think ef HE'D CUT LOOSE, I gum!
'D he'p his heavenly chances some!
Mylo's wife don't see no use,
Ner no reason ner excuse
Fer his pore relations to
Hang round like they allus do!
Thare 'bout onc't a year--and SHE--
She jest GA'NTS 'em, folks tells me,
On spiced pears!--Pass Mylo one,
He says 'No, he don't chuse none!'
Workin'men like Mylo they
'D ort to have MEAT ev'ry day!
Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!
Ruther rake a blame caseknife
'Crost my wizzen than to see
Sich a womern rulin' ME!--
Ruther take and turn in and
Raise a fool mule-colt by hand'
MYLO, though--od-rot the man!--
Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks CAN--
And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose,
Is MAN'S HE'PMEET'--Mercy knows!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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I just cleared the slate and thought of her as a mother and went from there.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
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I didn't work on the killing floor. I worked in the section where you break the meat down and package it.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
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The Douglas Tragedy
'Rise up, rise up now, Lord Douglas,' she says,
'And put on your armour so bright;
Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.
'Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa the last night.'--
He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rode away.
Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,
To see what he could see,
And there be spy'd her seven brethren bold,
Come riding o'er the lee.
'Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret,' he said,
'And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brothers bold,
And your father I make a stand.'--
She held his steed in her milk white hand,
And never shed one tear,
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.
'O hold your hand, Lord William!' she said,
'For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
True lovers I can get many a ane,
But a father I can never get mair.'--
O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the holland sae fine,
And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.
'O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg'ret,' he said,
'O whether will ye gang or bide?'
'I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William,' she said,
'For ye have left me no other guide.'--
He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey.
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.
O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they came to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.
They lighted down to tak a drink
Of the spring that ran sae clear:
And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
And sair she 'gan to fear.
'Hold up, hold up, Lord William,' she says,
'For I fear that you are slain!'
''Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak
That shines in the water sae plain.'
O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they cam to his mother's ha' door,
And there they lighted down.
'Get up, get up, lady mother,' he says,
'Get up, and let me in!--
Get up, get up, lady mother,' he says,
'For this night my fair ladye I've win.
'O mak my bed, lady mother,' he says,
'O mak it braid and deep!
And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep.'--
Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
Lady Marg'ret lang ere day--
And all true lovers that go thegither,
May they have mair luck than they!
Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk,
Lady Margaret in Marie's quire;
Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o' the knight's a brier.
And they twa met, and they twa plat,
And fain they wad be near;
And a' the warld might ken right weel,
They were twa lovers dear.
But by and rade the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!
For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
An flang't in St. Marie's Loch.
poem by Andrew Lang
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My Dancin'-Days Is Over
What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch my breath
And ripples up my backbone tel I'm tickled most to death?--
Kindo' like that sweet-sick feelin', in the long sweep of a swing,
The first you ever swung in, with yer first sweet-heart, i jing!--
Yer first picnic--yer first ice-cream--yer first o' _ever'thing_
'At happened 'fore yer dancin'-days wuz over!
I never understood it--and I s'pose I never can,--
But right in town here, yisterd'y, I heerd a pore blindman
A-fiddlin' old 'Gray Eagle'--_And_-sir! I jes stopped my load
O' hay and listened at him--yes, and watched the way he 'bow'd,'--
And back I went, plum forty year', with boys and girls I knowed
And loved, long 'fore my dancin'-days wuz over!--
At high noon in yer city,--with yer blame Magnetic-Cars
A-hummin' and a-screetchin' past--and bands and G.A.R.'s
A-marchin'--and fire-ingines.--_All_ the noise, the whole street through,
Wuz lost on me!--I only heerd a whipperwill er two,
It 'peared-like, kindo' callin' 'crost the darkness and the dew,
Them nights afore my dancin'-days wuz over.
T'uz Chused'y-night at Wetherell's, er We'nsd'y-night at Strawn's,
Er Fourth-o'-July-night at uther Tomps's house er John's!--
With old Lew Church from Sugar Crick, with that old fiddle he
Had sawed clean through the Army, from Atlanty to the sea--
And yit he'd fetched, her home ag'in, so's he could play fer me
One't more afore my dancin'-days wuz over!
The woods 'at's all ben cut away wuz growin' same as then;
The youngsters all wuz boys ag'in 'at's now all oldish men;
And all the girls 'at _then_ wuz girls--I saw 'em, one and all,
As _plain_ as then--the middle-sized, the short-and-fat, and tall--
And, 'peared-like, I danced 'Tucker' fer 'em up and down the wall
Jes like afore my dancin' days wuz over!
* * * * *
Yer _po_-leece they can holler 'Say! _you_, Uncle! drive ahead!--
You can't use _all_ the right-o'-way!'--fer that wuz what they said!--
But, jes the same,--in spite of all 'at you call 'interprise
And prog-gress of _you_-folks Today,' we're all of _fambly-ties_--
We're all got feelin's fittin' fer the _tears_ 'at's in our eyes
Er the _smiles_ afore our dancin'-days is over.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Women loved that part 'cause K.C. was just sassy.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That got me to L.A. and reintroduced me to my future husband.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clerk Saunders
Clerk Saunders and may Margaret
Walked ower yon garden green;
And sad and heavy was the love
That fell thir twa between.
'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders said,
'A bed for you and me!'
'Fye na, fye na,' said may Margaret,
''Till anes we married be.
'For in may come my seven bauld brothers,
Wi' torches burning bright;
They'll say,--'We hae but ae sister,
And behold she's wi a knight!''
'Then take the sword frae my scabbard,
And slowly lift the pin;
And you may swear, and save your aith.
Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.
'And take a napkin in your hand,
And tie up baith your bonny e'en,
And you may swear, and save your aith,
Ye saw me na since late yestreen.'
It was about the midnight hour,
When they asleep were laid,
When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning red.
When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning bright:
They said, 'We hae but ae sister,
And behold her lying with a knight!'
Then out and spake the first o' them,
'I bear the sword shall gar him die!'
And out and spake the second o' them,
'His father has nae mair than he!'
And out and spake the third o' them,
'I wot that they are lovers dear!'
And out and spake the fourth o' them,
'They hae been in love this mony a year!'
Then out and spake the fifth o' them,
'It were great sin true love to twain!'
And out and spake the sixth o' them,
'It were shame to slay a sleeping man!'
Then up and gat the seventh o' them,
And never a word spake he;
But he has striped his bright brown brand
Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.
Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned
Into his arms as asleep she lay;
And sad and silent was the night
That was atween thir twae.
And they lay still and sleeped sound
Until the day began to daw;
And kindly to him she did say,
'It is time, true love, you were awa'.'
But he lay still, and sleeped sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen;
She looked atween her and the wa',
And dull and drowsie were his e'en.
Then in and came her father dear;
Said,--'Let a' your mourning be:
I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee.'
'Comfort weel your seven sons;
For comforted will I never be:
I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi' me.'
The clinking bell gaed through the town,
To carry the dead corse to the clay;
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,
I wot, an hour before the day.
'Are ye sleeping, Margaret?' he says,
'Or are ye waking presentlie?
Give me my faith and troth again,
I wot, true love, I gied to thee.'
'Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
Nor our true love sall never twin,
Until ye come within my bower,
And kiss me cheik and chin.'
'My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
It has the smell, now, of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
Thy days of life will not be lang.
'O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowls are boding day;
Give me my faith and troth again,
And let me fare me on my way.'
'Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
And our true love sall never twin,
Until ye tell what comes of women,
I wot, who die in strong traivelling?
'Their beds are made in the heavens high,
Down at the foot of our good lord's knee,
Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;
I wot, sweet company for to see.
'O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowl are boding day;
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
And I, ere now, will be missed away.'
Then she has ta'en a crystal wand,
And she has stroken her troth thereon;
She has given it him out at the shot-window,
Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.
'I thank ye, Marg'ret, I thank ye, Marg'ret;
And aye I thank ye heartilie;
Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Mag'ret, I'll come for thee.'
It's hosen and shoon, and gown alone,
She climb'd the wall, and followed him,
Until she came to the green forest,
And there she lost the sight o' him.
'Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,
Where fain, fain I wad sleep?'
'There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,
There's nae room at my feet;
My bed it is full lowly now,
Amang the hungry worms I sleep.
'Cauld mould is my covering now,
But and my winding-sheet;
The dew it falls nae sooner down
Than my resting-place is weet.
'But plait a wand o' bonnie birk,
And lay it on my breast;
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest.
'And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,
And Marg'ret, o' veritie,
Gin ere ye love another man,
Ne'er love him as ye did me.'
Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
And up and crew the gray;
Her lover vanish'd in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.
poem by Andrew Lang
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I'm Catholic, he's Jewish, and it was just easier to elope.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There were a coupla times when I had had it. And when I'm pushed to the limit, I scream.
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If I was working hard, she bled into my personality. I became more cynical.
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Two For Christmas
Kids all grown and have their own thing
Family too far away...
Just two for Christmas this year
Never been just two
No need for trees and shiny things
Or all the presents and food
Just two for Christmas this year
Never been just two
Quietly to bed on Christmas eve
Wont feed the reindeer this year
Just two for Christmas this year
Never been just two
Strange to wake on Christmas Day
No laughing kids to watch
Just two for Christmas this year
Never been just us two.
poem by Alison Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One of the jobs I had was cutting out the blood clots on a side of beef.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We would love to have other children. It hasn't happened. We haven't been lucky enough.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before Huey was 5, I could take him to work with me. Now, though, he has sports and lessons and friends, and it's not fair to remove him from his whole life.
quote by Marg Helgenberger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Prepared [xmas Song ]
get prepared
get prepared for christmas with happiness and joy
santas got a sack of gifts for a girl and boy
get prepared for mince pies with a glass of wine
get prepared for shopping queue up in a line
christmas is a happy time christmas is so good
so lets just celebrate one more year
merry christmas hoho ho
christmas is a happy time christmas is so good
so lets just celebrate one more year
merry christmas everyone
get prepared for rubies emeralds and ice
you can pick just want you want no matter what the price
get prepared for santa with a glass of wine
get prepared for turkey with stuffing to combine
christmas is a happy time christmas is so good
so lets just celebrate one more year
merry christmas ho ho ho
christmas is a happy time christmas is so good
so lets just celebrate one more year
merry christmas everyone
get prepared for presents open them with haste
when youve ripped the wrapping off recycle all the waste
get prepared for christmas cake pour some brandy on
youve gotta get it quickly its to late when its gone
christmas is a happy time christmas is so good
so lets just celebrate one more year
merry christmas ho ho ho
christmas is a happy time christmas is so good
oh lets just celebrate one more year
merry christmas everyone
repeat chorus
poem by Jayne Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Tale Of The Airly Days
Oh! tell me a tale of the airly days--
Of the times as they ust to be;
'Piller of Fi-er' and 'Shakespeare's Plays'
Is a' most too deep fer me!
I want plane facts, and I want plane words,
Of the good old-fashioned ways,
When speech run free as the songs of birds
'Way back in the airly days.
Tell me a tale of the timber-lands--
Of the old-time pioneers;
Somepin' a pore man understands
With his feelins's well as ears.
Tell of the old log house,--about
The loft, and the puncheon flore--
The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out,
And the latch-string thrugh the door.
Tell of the things jest as they was--
They don't need no excuse!--
Don't tech 'em up like the poets does,
Tel theyr all too fine fer use!--
Say they was 'leven in the fambily--
Two beds, and the chist, below,
And the trundle-beds that each helt three,
And the clock and the old bureau.
Then blow the horn at the old back-door
Tel the echoes all halloo,
And the childern gethers home onc't more,
Jest as they ust to do:
Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes,
With Tomps and Elias, too,
A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums
And the old Red White and Blue!
Blow and blow tel the sound draps low
As the moan of the whipperwill,
And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo,
All sleepin' at Bethel Hill:
Blow and call tel the faces all
Shine out in the back-log's blaze,
And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall
As they did in the airly days.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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