Salmon River Again

Folks say that I’m a-gittin’ cracked

     Upon the Salmon River;

Thet place, you know, where poets grow,

     An’ pine tree shadders quiver.

An’ where the salmon, years ergo

     Backed out (both saint an’ sinner);

“No use,” said they, “we kernot stay,

     An’ wear our bellies thinner.”

The shad hev gone, he tooters blow –

     (Thet is, the kind thet’s weedy) –

An’ muskrats play the live-long day,

     An’ frogs er gittin’ greedy.

Now I don’t wanter run it down,

     Or merely advertise it,

But my one scheme – my life’s great dream –

     Is tew immortalize it.

An’ so I sing an’ rhyme an’ brag

     Erbout the Salmon River;

Whare fortunes grow an’ turkeys crow,

     An’ Rip Van Winkles shiver.

Where pole-cats caper round the kill

     Amid the rich arbutus;

With spirits high they loudly cry:

     “There’s no one here to shute us!”

March 16, ‘91

Pub. in Conn.

Valley Advertiser