Ira In The City
IRA IN THE CITY.
I WONDER what they're doin' these delightful days out there,
Where the good old crispy feelln' comes a-stealin' through the air;
I can almost taste the cider that is pourin' from the mill;
Seems as though I hear the rustle In the corn shocks on the hill;
I can seem to see the punklns gleamin' yellow on the ground
And the blossoms of the buckwheat with the bees a-buzzln' round.
I wonder if they ever, as they're walkin' on out there,
Get to thinkin' of where I am; wonder if they ever care?
Oh, I s'pose the old spring bubbles just as cool and just as clear
As it used to 'fore I ever dreampt of comin' way up here,
And the path down from the kitchen, s'pose it's there the same today,
And wore down as smooth and bare as though I'd never come away.
I wonder if they ever notice my initials where,
Long ago, I cut 'em into all the stable doors out there?
And I wonder when they see 'em if they ever think of me
And would like to see me back there where the wind's a-blowin' free,
Where the hick'ry nuts come tumblin with a rattle from the limb,
And the Lord's still near the people, and they still believe in him?
I s'pose the sumac's crimson and the maple's turnin' red,
Just as though I'd never left there with big notions in my head,
And the cows I'll bet go wadin' to the middle of the stream
And stand there, kind of solemn, and look fur away and dream.
Not a thing has stopped out yonder just because I left one day,
And if I'd go back the city'd never know I'd been away.
-- S. E. Kiser in Chicago Record-Herald.
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Old News
Ann Arbor Argus-Democrat