When The Frost Is On The Punkin Recipe
Yield: 1 PoemRecipe by luhu.jp
Ingredients:
James Whitcomb Riley,
The Hoosier Poet,
Directions:
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodders in the shock, And
you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin turkey-cock And the
clackin of the guineys, and the cluckin of the hens, And the
roosters hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; O, its thens the
times a feller is a-feelin at his best, With the risin sun to greet
him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house,
bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the
punkin and the fodders in the shock.
Theys something kindo harty-like about the atmusfere When the heat
of summers over and the coolin fall is here-- Of course we miss the
flowers, and the blossums on the trees, And the mumble of the
hummin-birds and buzzin of the bees; But the airs so appetizen;
and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of
the airly autumn days Is a pictur that no painter has the colorin
to mock-- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodders in the
shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, And the raspin
of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; The stubble in the
furries--kindo lonesome-like, but still A-preachin sermons to us of
the barns they growed to fill; The strawstack in the medder, and the
reaper in the shed; The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover
overhead!-- O, it sets my hart a c-clickin like the tickin of a
clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodders in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps Is
poured around the cellar-floor in red and yeller heaps; And your
cider-makin s over, and your wimmern-folks is through With their
mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!... I dont
know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be As the Angels
wantin boardin, and theyd call around on *me*-- Id want to
commodate em--all the whole-indurin flock-- When the frost is on
the punkin and the fodders in the shock!
MM Format by John Hartman Indianapolis, IN 26 September 1996
Source from luhu.jp
you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin turkey-cock And the
clackin of the guineys, and the cluckin of the hens, And the
roosters hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; O, its thens the
times a feller is a-feelin at his best, With the risin sun to greet
him from a night of peaceful rest, As he leaves the house,
bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the
punkin and the fodders in the shock.
Theys something kindo harty-like about the atmusfere When the heat
of summers over and the coolin fall is here-- Of course we miss the
flowers, and the blossums on the trees, And the mumble of the
hummin-birds and buzzin of the bees; But the airs so appetizen;
and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of
the airly autumn days Is a pictur that no painter has the colorin
to mock-- When the frost is on the punkin and the fodders in the
shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, And the raspin
of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; The stubble in the
furries--kindo lonesome-like, but still A-preachin sermons to us of
the barns they growed to fill; The strawstack in the medder, and the
reaper in the shed; The hosses in theyr stalls below--the clover
overhead!-- O, it sets my hart a c-clickin like the tickin of a
clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodders in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps Is
poured around the cellar-floor in red and yeller heaps; And your
cider-makin s over, and your wimmern-folks is through With their
mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!... I dont
know how to tell it--but ef sich a thing could be As the Angels
wantin boardin, and theyd call around on *me*-- Id want to
commodate em--all the whole-indurin flock-- When the frost is on
the punkin and the fodders in the shock!
MM Format by John Hartman Indianapolis, IN 26 September 1996
Source from luhu.jp