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Song

Wintah, summah, snow er shine,
Hit's all de same to me,
Ef only I kin call you mine,
An' keep you by my knee.
Ha'dship, frolic, grief er caih,
Content by night an' day,
Ef only I kin see you whaih
You wait beside de way.
Livin', dyin', smiles er teahs,
My soul will still be free,
Ef only thoo de comin' yeahs
You walk de worl' wid me.
Bird-song, breeze-wail, chune er moan,
What puny t'ings dey'll be,
Ef w'en I's seemin' all erlone,
I knows yo' hea't's wid me.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Foolin' Wid De Seasons

Seems lak folks is mighty curus
In de way dey t'inks an' ac's.
Dey jes' spen's dey days a-mixin'
Up de t'ings in almanacs.
Now, I min' my nex' do' neighbour,--
He's a mighty likely man,
But he nevah t'inks o' nuffin
'Ceptin' jes' to plot an' plan.

All de wintah he was plannin'
How he 'd gethah sassafras
Jes' ez soon ez evah Springtime
Put some greenness in de grass.
An' he 'lowed a little soonah
He could stan' a coolah breeze
So 's to mek a little money
F'om de sugah-watah trees.

In de summah, he 'd be waihin'
Out de linin' of his soul,
Try 'n' ca'ci'late an' fashion
How he 'd git his wintah coal;
An' I b'lieve he got his jedgement
Jes' so tuckahed out an' thinned
Dat he t'ought a robin's whistle
Was de whistle of de wind.

Why won't folks gin up dey plannin',
An' jes' be content to know
Dat dey 's gittin' all dat's fu' dem
In de days dat come an' go?
Why won't folks quit movin' forrard?
Ain't hit bettah jes' to stan'
An' be satisfied wid livin'
In de season dat 's at han'?

Hit 's enough fu' me to listen
W'en de birds is singin' 'roun',
'Dout a-guessin' whut 'll happen
W'en de snow is on de groun'.
In de Springtime an' de summah,
I lays sorrer on de she'f;
An' I knows ol' Mistah Wintah
Gwine to hustle fu' hisse'f.

We been put hyeah fu' a pu'pose,
But de questun dat has riz
An' made lots o' people diffah
Is jes' whut dat pu'pose is.
Now, accordin' to my reas'nin',
Hyeah's de p'int whaih I 's arriv,
Sence de Lawd put life into us,
We was put hyeah fu' to live!

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faith

I'S a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do,
De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiahplace an' flue;
Dey's allus somep'n comin' so de spit'll have to turn,
An' hit tain't no p'oposition fu' to mek de hickory bu'n.
Ef de sweet pertater fails us an' de go'geous yallah yam,
We kin tek a bit o' comfo't f'om ouah sto' o' summah jam.
W'en de snow hit git to flyin', dat's de Mastah's own desiah,
De Lawd'll run de wintah an' yo' mammy'll run de fiah.
I ain' skeered because de win' hit staht to rain and blow,
I ain't bothahed w'en he come er rattlin' at de do',
Let him taih hisse'f an' shout, let him blow an' bawl,
Dat's de time de branches shek an' bresh-wood 'mence to fall.
W'en de sto'm er railin' an' de shettahs blowin' 'bout,
Dat de time de fiah-place crack hits welcome out.
Tain' my livin' business fu' to trouble ner enquiah
De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
Ash-cake allus gits ez brown w'en February's hyeah
Ez it does in bakin' any othah time o' yeah.
De bacon smell ez callin'-like, de kittle rock an' sing,
De same way in de wintah dat dey do it in de spring;
Dey ain't no use in mopin' 'round an' lookin' mad an' glum
Erbout de wintah season, fu' hit's des plumb boun' to come;
An' ef it comes to runnin' t'ings I's willin' to retiah,
De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tryst

DE night creep down erlong de lan',
De shadders rise an' shake,
De frog is sta'tin' up his ban',
De cricket is awake;
My wo'k is mos' nigh done, Celes',
To-night I won't be late,
I's hu'yin' thoo my level bes',
Wait fu' me by de gate.
De mockin'-bird'll sen' his glee
A-thrillin' thoo and thoo,
I know dat ol' magnolia-tree
Is smellin' des' fu' you;
De jessamine erside de road
Is bloomin' rich an' white,
My hea't's a-th'obbin' 'cause it knowed
You'd wait fu' me to-night.
Hit's lonesome, ain't it, stan'in' thaih
Wid no one nigh to talk?
But ain't dey whispahs in de aih
Erlong de gyahden walk?
Don't somep'n kin' o' call my name,
An' say 'he love you bes''?
Hit's true, I wants to say de same,
So wait fu' me, Celes'.
Sing somep'n fu' to pass de time,
Outsing de mockin'-bird,
You got de music an' de rhyme,
You beat him wid de word.
I's comin' now, my wo'k is done,
De hour has come fu' res',
I wants to fly, but only run—
Wait fu' me, deah Celes'.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Puttin' The Baby Away

EIGHT of 'em hyeah all tol' an' yet
Dese eyes o' mine is wringin' wet;
My haht's a-achin' ha'd an' so',
De way hit nevah ached befo';
My soul's a-pleadin', 'Lawd give back
Dis little lonesome baby black,
Dis one, dis las' po' he'pless one
Whose little race was too soon run.'
Po' Little Jim, des fo' yeahs' ol'
A-layin' down so still an' col'.
Somehow hit don' seem ha'dly faih,
To have my baby lyin' daih
Wi'dout a smile upon his face,
Wi'dout a look erbout de place;
He ust to be so full o' fun
Hit don' seem right dat all's done, done.
Des eight in all but I don' caih,
Dey wa'nt a single one to spaih;
De worl' was big, so was my haht,
An' dis hyeah baby owned hit's paht;
De house was po', dey clothes was rough,
But daih was meat an' meal enough;
An' daih was room fu' little Jim;
Oh! Lawd, what made you call fu' him?
It do seem monst'ous ha'd to-day,
To lay dis baby boy away;
I'd learned to love his teasin' smile,
He mought o' des been lef' erwhile;
You wouldn't t'ought wid all de folks,
Dat's roun' hyeah mixin' teahs an' jokes,
De Lawd u'd had de time to see
Dis chile an' tek him 'way f'om me.
But let it go, I reckon Jim,
'll des go right straight up to Him
Dat took him f'om his mammy's nest
An' lef' dis achin' in my breas',
An' lookin' in dat fathah's face
An' 'memberin' dis lone sorrerin' place,
He'll say, 'Good Lawd, you ought to had
Do sumpin' fu' to comfo't dad!'

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dyin' Ain't Much Of A Livin'

A whiskey bottle comforts me
And tells me not to cry
While a full moon says a prayer for me
I try to close my eyes

But the night's there to remind me
Of the guns and the early graves
The ghosts appear as I fall asleep
To sing an outlaw's serenade

Dyin' ain't much of a livin'
When you're livin' on the run
Dyin' ain't much of a livin' for the young
Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
For the things that I have done
Dyin' ain't much of a livin' for the young

The desert's been a friend to me
It covers me by night
And a snakebite's not my enemy
But it taught me how to fight

All this fame don't bring you freedom
Though it wears a thin disguise
When an outlaw is just a man to me
And a man has to die

Dyin' ain't much of a livin'
When you're livin' on the run
Dyin' ain't much of a livin' for the young
Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
For the things that I have done
Dyin' ain't much of a livin' for the young

And I hope someone will pray for me
When it's my turn to die... PRAY FOR ME !!!

Dyin' ain't much of a livin'
When you're livin' on the run
Dyin' ain't much of a livin' for the young
Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
For the things that I have done
Dyin' ain't much of a livin' for the young

song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Christmas Folksong

DE win' is blowin' wahmah,
An hit's blowin' f'om de bay;
Dey's a so't o' mist a-risin'
All erlong de meddah way;
Dey ain't a hint o' frostin'
On de groun' ner in de sky,
An' dey ain't no use in hopin'
Dat de snow'll 'mence to fly.
It's goin' to be a green Christmas,
An' sad de day fu' me.
I wish dis was de las' one
Dat evah I should see.
Dey's dancin' in de cabin,
Dey's spahkin' by de tree;
But dancin' times an' spahkin'
Are all done pas' fur me.
Dey's feastin' in de big house,
Wid all de windahs wide —
Is dat de way fu' people
To meet de Christmas-tide?
It's goin' to be a green Christmas,
No mattah what you say.
Dey's us dat will remembah
An' grieve de comin' day.
Dey's des a bref o' dampness
A-clingin' to my cheek;
De aih's been dahk an' heavy
An' threatenin' fu' a week,
But not wid signs o' wintah,
Dough wintah'd seem so deah —
De wintah's out o' season,
An' Christmas eve is heah.
It's goin' to be a green Christmas,
An' oh, how sad de day!
Go ax de hongry chu'chya'd,
An' see what hit will say.
Dey's Allen on de hillside,
An' Marfy in de plain;
Fu' Christmas was like springtime,
An' come wid sun an' rain.
Dey's Ca'line, John, an' Susie,
Wid only dis one lef':
An' now de curse is comin'
Wid murder in hits bref.
It's goin' to be a green Christmas —
Des hyeah my words an' see:
Befo' de summah beckons
Dey's many'll weep wid me.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreamin' Town

COME away to dreamin' town,
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,
Whaih de skies don' nevah frown,
Mandy Lou;
Whaih de streets is paved with gol',
Whaih de days is nevah col',
An' no sheep strays f'om de fol',
Mandy Lou.
Ain't you tiahed of every day,
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,
Tek my han' an' come away,
Mandy Lou,
To the place whaih dreams is King,
Whaih my heart hol's everything,
An' my soul can allus sing,
Mandy Lou.
Come away to dream wid me,
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,
Whaih our hands an' hea'ts are free,
Mandy Lou;
Whaih de sands is shinin' white,
Whaih de rivahs glistens bright,
Mandy Lou.
Come away to dreamland town,
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou,
Whaih de fruit is bendin' down,
Des fu' you.
Smooth your brow of lovin' brown,
An' my love will be its crown;
Come away to dreamin' town,

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Itching Heels

FU' de peace o' my eachin' heels, set down;
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'.
Don' you see how dat melody stuhs me up
An' baigs me to tek to de flo'?
You knows I's a Christian, good an' strong;
I wusship f'om June to June;
My pra'ahs dey ah loud an' my hymns ah long:
I baig you don' fiddle dat chune.
I's a crick in my back an' a misery hyeah
Whaih de j'ints's gittin' ol' an' stiff,
But hit seems lak you brings me de bref o' my youf;
W'y, I's suttain I noticed a w'iff.
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo', my chile,
Don' fiddle dat chune no mo';
I'll git up an' taih up dis groun' fu' a mile,
An' den I'll be chu'ched fu' it, sho'.
Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo', I say,
An' fiddle it loud an' fas':
I's a youngstah ergin in de mi'st o' my sin;
De p'esent's gone back to de pas'.
I'll dance to dat chune, so des fiddle erway;
I knows how de backslidah feels;
So fiddle it on 'twell de break o' de day
Fu' de sake o' my eachin' heels.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dyin Aint Much Of A Livin

J. bon jovi
A whiskey bottle comforts me
And tells me not to cry
While a full moon says a prayer for me
I try to close my eyes
But the nights there to remind me
Of the guns and the early graves
The ghosts appear as I fall asleep
To sing an outlaws serenade
Dyin aint much of a livin
When youre livin on the run
Dyin aint much of a livin for the young
Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
For the things that I have done
Dyin aint much of a livin for the young
The deserts been a friend to me
It covers me by night
And a snakebites not my enemy
But it taught me how to fight
All this fame dont bring you freedom
Though it wears a this disguise
When an outlaw is just a man to me
And a man has to die
Dyin aint much of a livin
When youre livin on the run
Dyin aint much of a livin for the young
Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
For the things that I have done
Dyin aint much of a livin for the young
Solo
And I hope someone will pray for me
When its my turn to die... pray for me
Chorus

song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dirty Livin

I cant get enough of what I need
People all around me lettin me bleed
Waitin for the darkness to blind the heat
I make my livin out on the streets
Dirty livin, ahh, dirty livin
I cant wait any longer to set myself free
Flashin lights keep runnin through my brain
Someone find the doctor to ease all the pain
Traffic in the city is burnin me out
She makes me wanna jump up and shout
Dirty livin, ahh, dirty livin
I cant wait any longer to set myself free, ahh
I cant wait any longer to set myself free, ahh
No more, no more
Ive gotta get away
Dirty livin, dirty livin
Ahh, dirty livin
Main line out of china is due in tonight
Mother, sister, brother are lyin uptight
I can hear the jukebox poundin out loud
I take my fury out on the crowd
Dirty livin, ahh, dirty livin
I cant wait any longer to set myself free, ahh
I cant wait any longer to set myself free, ahh
No more, no more
Ive gotta get away
Dirty livin, dirty livin
Its gettin to me, its gettin to me
I cant wait, I cant wait
Dirty livin, dirty livin, yeah
Why dont you set me free

song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Eastern Shore

I'S feelin' kin' o' lonesome in my little room to-night,
An' my min's done los' de minutes an' de miles,
W'ile it teks me back a-flyin' to de country of delight,
Whaih de Chesapeake goes grumblin' er wid smiles.
Oh, de ol' plantation's callin' to me,
Come, come back,
Hyeah's de place fu' you to labouh an' to res',
Fu' my sandy roads is gleamin' w'ile de city ways is black;
Come back, honey, case yo' country home is bes'.
I know de moon is shinin' down erpon de Eastern sho',
An' de bay's a-sayin' 'Howdy' to de lan';
An' de folks is all-a-settin' out erroun' de cabin do',
Wid dey feet a-restin' in de silvah san';
An' de ol' plantation's callin' to me,
Come, oh, come,
F'om de life dat's des' a-waihin' you erway,
F'om de trouble an' de bustle, an' de agernizin' hum
Dat de city keeps ergoin' all de day.
I's tiahed of de city, tek me back to Sandy Side,
Whaih de po'est ones kin live an' play an' eat;
Whaih we draws a simple livin' f'om de fo'est an' de tide,
An' de days ah faih, an' evah night is sweet.
Fu' de ol' plantation's callin' to me,
Come, oh, come.
An' de Chesapeake's a-sayin' 'Dat's de t'ing,'
W'ile my little cabin beckons, dough his mouf is closed an' dumb,
I's a-comin', an' my hea't begins to sing.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Trouble Livin

Dont talk to me bout life problems or
How you wish that things could be
cause I dont have no trouble livin
Its jus dyin that bothers me
Dont offer me no sad stories or
Tell me that youre all at sea
cause I dont have no trouble livin
Its jus dyin that bothers me
You doin great
You gettin straight
You get your call
Thats all
So dont tell me your misgivings
Or not to be or not to be
cause I dont have no trouble livin
Its jus dyin that bothers me
You doin fine
You sippin wine
You feel a pain
Last train
So dont tell me your misgivings
Or blame it on the referree
cause I dont have no trouble livin
Its jus dyin that bothers me

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Plantation Child's Lullaby

WINTAH time hit comin'
Stealin' thoo de night;
Wake up in the mo'nin'
Evah ting is white;
Cabin lookin' lonesome
Stannin' in de snow,
Meks you kin' o' nervous,
W'en de win' hit blow.
Trompin' back from feedin',
Col' an' wet an' blue,
Homespun jacket ragged,
Win' a-blowin' thoo.
Cabin lookin' cheerful,
Unnerneaf de do',
Yet you kin' o' keerful
W'en de win' hit blow.
Hickory log a-blazin'
Light a-lookin' red,
Faith o' eyes o' peepin'
R'om a trun'le bed,
Little feet a-patterin'
Clear across de flo';
Bettah had be keerful
W'en de win' hit blow.
Suppah done an' ovah,
Evah t'ing is still;
Listen to de snowman
Slippin' down de hill.
Ashes on de fiah,
Keep it wa'm but low.
What's de use o' keerin'
Ef de win' do blow?
Smoke house full o' bacon,
Brown an' sweet an' good;
Taters in de cellah,
'Possum roam de wood;
Little baby snoozin'
Des ez ef he know.
What's de use o' keerin'
Ef de win' do blow?

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snowin

Dey is snow upon de meddahs, dey is snow upon de hill,
An' de little branch's watahs is all glistenin' an' still;
De win' goes roun' de cabin lak a sperrit wan'erin' 'roun'.
An' de chillen shakes an' shivahs as dey listen to de soun'.
Dey is hick'ry in de fiahplace, whah de blaze is risin' high,
But de heat it meks ain't wa'min' up de gray clouds in de sky.
Now an' den I des peep outside, den I hurries to de do',
Lawd a mussy on my body, how I wish it would n't snow!

I kin stan' de hottes' summah, I kin stan' de wettes' fall,
I kin stan' de chilly springtime in de ploughland, but dat's all;
Fu' de ve'y hottes' fiah nevah tells my skin a t'ing,
W'en de snow commence a-flyin', an' de win' begin to sing.
Dey is plenty wood erroun' us, an' I chop an' tote it in,
But de t'oughts dat I 's a t'inkin' while I 's wo'kin' is a sin.
I kin keep f'om downright swahin' all de time I 's on de go,
But my hea't is full o' cuss-wo'ds w'en I's trampin' thoo de snow.

What you say, you Lishy Davis, dat you see a possum's tracks?
Look hyeah, boy, you stop yo' foolin', bring ol' Spot, an' bring de ax.
Is I col'? Go way, now, Mandy, what you t'ink I's made of?--sho,
W'y dis win' is des ez gentle, an' dis ain't no kin' o' snow.
Dis hyeah weathah 's des ez healthy ez de wa'mest summah days.
All you chillen step up lively, pile on wood an' keep a blaze.
What's de use o' gittin' skeery case dey 's snow upon de groun'?
Huh-uh, I 's a reg'lar snowbird ef dey 's any possum 'roun'.

Go on, Spot, don' be so foolish; don' you see de signs o' feet.
What you howlin' fu? Keep still, suh, cose de col' is putty sweet;
But we goin' out on bus'ness, an' hit 's bus'ness o' de kin'
Dat mus' put a dog an' dahky in a happy frame o' min'.
Yes, you 's col'; I know it, Spotty, but you des stay close to me,
An' I 'll mek you hot ez cotton w'en we strikes de happy tree.
No, I don' lak wintah weathah, an' I 'd wush 't uz allus June,
Ef it was n't fu' de trackin' o' de possum an' de coon.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something's Comin' Up

BY BARRY MANILOW
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Did you ever feel somethin' in the air
And you block it out, but you know it's there
Did you ever find, things about to change
I can see the signs all along my way
And I can feel that
Something's comin' up
And I don't know what it is
Something's comin' up
And I don't know where it's gonna take me
But there's something dyin'
Something bein' born
I think I'm gonna leave, I gotta get away
Maybe try Mill Valley, maybe try L.A.
The people I thought I loved
Well, we don't think the same
There's fury in my blood
And I can't stand it one more day
And I can feel that
Something's comin' up
And I don't know what it is
Something's comin' up
And I don't know where it's gonna take me
But there's something dyin'
And something bein' born
Something's comin' up (comin' up)
Something's comin' up (comin' up)
Something's comin' up (really don't know what it is)
Something's comin' up (really don't know what it is)
Something's comin' up
And I don't know what it is
Something's comin' up
And I don't know where it's gonna take me

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter's Approach

DE sun hit shine an' de win' hit blow,
Ol' Brer Rabbit be a-layin' low,
He know dat de wintah time a-comin',
De huntah man he walk an' wait,
He walk right by Brer Rabbit's gate —
He know —
De dog he lick his sliverin' chop,
An' he tongue 'gin' his mouf go flop, flop—
He —
He rub his nose fu' to clah his scent
So's to tell w'ich way dat cotton-tail went,
He —
De huntah's wife she set an' spin
A good wahm coat fu' to wrop him in
She —
She look at de skillet an' she smile, oh my!
An' ol' Brer Rabbit got to sholy fly.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dely

Jes' lak toddy wahms you thoo'
Sets yo' haid a reelin',
Meks you ovah good and new,
Dat 's de way I 's feelin'.
Seems to me hit 's summah time,
Dough hit 's wintah reely,
I 's a feelin' jes' dat prime--
An' huh name is Dely.

Dis hyeah love 's a cu'rus thing,
Changes 'roun' de season,
Meks you sad or meks you sing,
'Dout no urfly reason.
Sometimes I go mopin' 'roun',
Den agin I 's leapin';
Sperits allus up an' down
Even when I 's sleepin'.

Fu' de dreams comes to me den,
An' dey keeps me pitchin',
Lak de apple dumplin's w'en
Bilin' in de kitchen.
Some one sot to do me hahm,
Tryin' to ovahcome me,
Ketchin' Dely by de ahm
So 's to tek huh f'om me.

Mon, you bettah b'lieve I fights
(Dough hit's on'y seemin');
I's a hittin' fu' my rights
Even w'en I 's dreamin'.
But I 'd let you have 'em all,
Give 'em to you freely,
Good an' bad ones, great an' small,
So 's you leave me Dely.

Dely got dem meltin' eyes,
Big an' black an' tendah.
Dely jes' a lady-size,
Delikit an' slendah.
Dely brown ez brown kin be
An' huh haih is curly;
Oh, she look so sweet to me,--
Bless de precious girlie!

Dely brown ez brown kin be,
She ain' no mullatter;
She pure cullud,--don' you see
Dat 's jes' whut 's de mattah?
Dat 's de why I love huh so,
D' ain't no mix about huh,
Soon 's you see huh face you know
D' ain't no chanst to doubt huh.

Folks dey go to chu'ch an' pray
So 's to git a blessin'.
Oomph, dey bettah come my way,
Dey could lu'n a lesson.
Sabbaf day I don' go fu',
Jes' to see my pigeon;
I jes' sets an' looks at huh,
Dat's enuff 'uligion.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soliloquy Of A Turkey

Dey 's a so't o' threatenin' feelin' in de blowin' of de breeze,
An' I 's feelin' kin' o' squeamish in de night;
I 's a-walkin' 'roun' a-lookin' at de diffunt style o' trees,
An' a-measurin' dey thickness an' dey height.
Fu' dey 's somep'n mighty 'spicious in de looks de da'kies give,
Ez dey pass me an' my fambly on de groun,'
So it 'curs to me dat lakly, ef I caihs to try an' live,
It concehns me fu' to 'mence to look erroun'.

Dey's a cu'ious kin' o' shivah runnin' up an' down my back,
An' I feel my feddahs rufflin' all de day,
An' my laigs commence to trimble evah blessid step I mek;
W'en I sees a ax, I tu'ns my head away.
Folks is go'gin' me wid goodies, an' dey 's treatin' me wid caih,
An' I 's fat in spite of all dat I kin do.
I 's mistrus'ful of de kin'ness dat's erroun' me evahwhaih,
Fu' it 's jes' too good, an' frequent, to be true.

Snow 's a-fallin' on de medders, all erroun' me now is white,
But I 's still kep' on a-roostin' on de fence;
Isham comes an' feels my breas'bone, an' he hefted me las' night,
An' he 's gone erroun' a-grinnin' evah sence.
'T ain't de snow dat meks me shivah; 't ain't de col' dat meks me
shake;
'T ain't de wintah-time itse'f dat's 'fectin' me;
But I t'ink de time is comin', an' I 'd bettah mek a break,
Fu' to set wid Mistah Possum in his tree.

Wen you hyeah de da'kies singin', an' de quahtahs all is gay,
'T ain't de time fu' birds lak me to be 'erroun';
Wen de hick'ry chip is flyin', an' de log 's been ca'ied erway,
Den hit's dang'ous to be roostin' nigh he groun'.

Grin on, Isham! Sing on, da'kies! But I flop my wings an' go
Fu' de sheltah of de ve'y highest tree,
Fu' dey 's too much close ertention--an' dey's too much fallin' snow--
An' it's too nigh Chris'mus mo'nin' now fu' me.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chrismus Is A-Comin

Bones a-gittin' achy,
Back a-feelin' col',
Han's a-growin' shaky,
Jes' lak I was ol'.
Fros' erpon de meddah
Lookin' mighty white;
Snowdraps lak a feddah
Slippin' down at night.
Jes' keep t'ings a-hummin'
Spite o' fros' an' showahs,
Chrismus is a-comin'
An' all de week is ouahs.

Little mas' a-axin',
'Who is Santy Claus?'
Meks it kin' o' taxin'
Not to brek de laws.
Chillun 's pow'ful tryin'
To a pusson's grace
Wen dey go a pryin'
Right on th'oo you' face
Down ermong yo' feelin's;
Jes' 'pears lak dat you
Got to change you' dealin's
So 's to tell 'em true.

An' my pickaninny--
Dreamin' in his sleep!
Come hyeah, Mammy Jinny,
Come an' tek a peep.
Ol Mas' Bob an' Missis
In dey house up daih
Got no chile lak dis is,
D' ain't none anywhaih.
Sleep, my little lammy,
Sleep, you little limb,
He do' know whut mammy
Done saved up fu' him.

Dey 'll be banjo pickin',
Dancin' all night thoo.
Dey 'll be lots o' chicken,
Plenty tukky, too.
Drams to wet yo' whistles
So 's to drive out chills.
Whut I keer fu' drizzles
Fallin' on de hills?
Jes' keep t'ings a-hummin'
Spite o' col' an' showahs,
Chrismus day 's a-comin',
An' all de week is ouahs.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jilted

Lucy done gone back on me,
Dat's de way wif life.
Evaht'ing was movin' free,
T'ought I had my wife.
Den some dahky comes along,
Sings my gal a little song,
Since den, evaht'ing's gone wrong,
Evah day dey 's strife.

Did n't answeh me to-day,
Wen I called huh name,
Would you t'ink she 'd ac' dat way
Wen I ain't to blame?
Dat 's de way dese women do,
Wen dey fin's a fellow true,
Den dey 'buse him thoo an' thoo;
Well, hit 's all de same.

Somep'n's wrong erbout my lung,
An' I 's glad hit 's so.
Doctah says 'at I 'll die young,
Well, I wants to go!
Whut 's de use o' livin' hyeah,
Wen de gal you loves so deah,
Goes back on you clean an' cleah--
I sh'd like to know?

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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