Ol’ Nutmeg’s Annual Ode To Spring

Ev’ry yer w’en sping come round

I kin hear a warmin’ soun’

Out uv natur’ an’ the skies

Tellin’ me to poetize.

Tellin’ me to sing once more,

Es I’ve often sung afore,

All erbout the buds an’ trees,

Frum theedder lots an’ honey bees.

An’ this chance I’m glad ter git,

Es I’m loaded full uv it.

An’ I allus feel the best

W’en ol’ winter’s shed his vest,

Givin’ spring a chance ter start

All the gems uv natur’s heart;

An’ a chance for me to vent

All my pent up senterment.

So I take my pen in han’

An’ survey the sproutin’ lan’,

Movin’, swamp an’ woodchuck hole                  (mowin’?)

Frum the winders uv my soul.

Ev’ry joyful spear uv grass

Nods an’ titters es I pass,

While the lan’ is drunk ‘ith glee,

Birds an’ buds an’ poetry.

Natur’s in a state uv bliss

Thet I wouldn’ wanter miss;

In a stream uv juberlee,

Coursin’ roun’ an’ swashin’ me.                        (comin’… smashin’?)

So it happens ev’ry spring,

I jest feel obleeged ter sing;

W’en I hear thet warmin’ soun’

I mus’ scratch my feelin’s down.

March 22, ‘93

Pub. in B. Courier,

March 18, ‘94