Public Domain Poetry And Stories - The Boy On The Farm by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Boy On The Farm

    By Madison Julius Cawein



    Out in Oldham County once
    Met a boy who showed me how
    He could milk an old red cow.
    Yes; he was n't any dunce.
    Put me on an old-gray mare;
    Rode me to an old mill, where
    They were grinding corn. He filled
    A big sack and then we sat
    By the dam and there he killed
    A black snake, as long as that.

    Then he showed me how to row
    In an old flat boat that leaked,
    Where the dam was stained and streaked
    With big lilies, white as snow.
    Then he showed me how to swim
    Jumping from a sycamore limb:
    While he splashed around, why, I
    Waded up and down the shore;
    Then, when he was dressed and dry,
    Mounted that old mare once more.

    And he took the bag of meal
    "That's for corn-cakes, " so he said:
    "And it makes the grandest bread!
    Cornbread. Ain't it heavy? Feel."
    And he slung it on across
    That old mare, who, with a toss
    Of her tail, turned right for home.
    On the way he showed me where
    Hornets had their nest, like some
    Foot-ball made of paper there.

    And he showed me how to catch
    Bumblebees and how to keep
    Them from stinging; made a leap,
    Caught one in a clover-patch;
    And he showed me then where they
    Stow their honey-bags away:
    Caught two bees and was n't stung:
    Took one's bag and gave it me,
    And I put it on my tongue:
    Sweet! yes sir, and smelt of bee.

    Then he caught a locust; took
    Its two wings, like some queer toy's;
    Showed me how it made its noise;
    Held it up and shook and shook
    Till it rattled. And that night
    Showed me, with a lantern light,
    How the pond-toads puffed their throats,
    Each one like a toy-balloon,
    Swelling, piping reedy notes,
    Making music for the moon.

    No; he was n't any dunce;
    No, sir. Why, he'd tell the time
    By the sun, he could. And climb!
    Climbed a great tall poplar once
    Hundred feet or more, and straight
    As the flag-pole at our gate.
    When he's up there, took his hat,
    Tossed it up and cried, "Hurrah!"
    Bet you no man could do that;
    No! not even my own Pa.

    Lose him? Why, he'd tell his way
    In the darkest night, he could;
    In the deepest, darkest wood,
    By the stars, he said: by day
    Knew it by these lichens on
    Trunks of trees. When I am grown
    He's a-going to teach me all
    Everything he knows; and I'm
    Going there again this Fall
    Live there, may be, all the time.



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