Springtime On The Crick

Ain’t no place on land or sea,

No place ’at I’ol ruther be

Than to be a-strollin’, say

Side o’ “Lizzard Crick” today.

Every mornin’ when I rise

There is summer in the skies,

There is summer in the breeze

Ez it capers threw the trees,

An’ my thoughts turn purty quick

To the shores uv “Lizzard Crick”,

An’ I know jest how the air

Strikes a feller way down there.

Ain’t no place I’d ruther laze

Than along the Crick these days;

No place at I’d ruther dream

Than beside this sunny stream

Where the ‘arly thrushes sing

A the comin’ of the spring;

Where the fishes crowd an’ swarm

In the water shoal an’ warm.

No sir-ee, I tell yew what,

Hain’t no more invitin’ spot

In the hull world, if yew please,

Than ol’ “Lizzard’, days like these.

Know just where they is a log

Stickin’ out o’ Wheeler’s bog;

Where they’s turkles, one by one,

Crawlin’ out thire in the sun;

Know jest where they is a hole,

Deeper’n any fishin’ pole,

Where they’s bullheads, jest at night,

Nosin’ round fur chance to bite.

O, I tell yew, days like these

I kin smell it in the breeze,

An’ I reckon I’ll grow sick

Hankerin’ fur thet ol’ Crick.

April 16, 1900

U. Sportsman July 1900