Slidin’ On Long Hill

When I walk down the street roun’ here an’ hear ‘em holler “road!”

An’ hev ter watch an’ skip across to keep from getting’ throwed,

It calls to mind ther good ol’ days an’ never rests until,

I see myself down thar agin, a-slidin’ on Long Hill.

The attitudes in which we slid wus numerous an’ queer,

An’ tho’ they call it countrified they do the same thing here;

We smaller chaps went bel-e-bump, but the more dignified,

Especially in daylight would somehow sit astride.

The parson’s son I recollect a double-ripper built,

And filled it up with us small chaps an’ every time we spilt.

But that ain’t ha’f the fun we had – a volume it would fill

To tell the antics that we cut a-slidin’ down Long Hill.

But younger one hev now grown up, we’ve given way to them,

An’ separated Eas’ an’ Wes’ an’ life’s swift current stem.

It may sound strange but I believe ‘twould cure mos’ any ill,

If I could take ther ol’ sled once an’ “bumper” down the hill.

Feb. 13, ‘91

Ad. Feb. 18, ‘91