by Joe Cone
I.
O,
summer days in Gungy they are days chock full uv bliss,
A sort uv dream-existunce ‘at I
shouldn’t wanter miss;
A sort uv tired feelin’ which is
follered by sweet rest,
A feelin’ ‘at comes only to the
pilgrims uv the blest.
The haze is soft an’ meller o’er
the fields uv wavin’ grass,
The breeze is clover-scented – you
kin hardly let it pass –
The trees are broad and shady, jest
invitin’ you to stay!
O, summer days in Gungy, they are
full uv joy today.
II.
The days awake in glory in the
meller eastern skies.
A purple streak of grandeur on the
aige uv paradise;
O bird-song breaks the stillness,
which for all its note uv mirth,
Jest seems to come from heaven
‘stead uv some place on earth.
The wakin’ world is fragrant with
the dew uv early morn
The mornin’ breeze is wakin’ up the
leaves uv sleepy corn;
The golden sun is shinin’ on the
things that need his glow;
O, summer morns in Gungy jest beat
anything I know!
III.
You hear the cheery orders to the
hungry waiting stock,
The big impatient hosses as they
chafe at chain and lock;
The lowin’ uv the cattle as they
wait impatiently
To pass the bars an’ revel in ol’
“Lizzard” handy by.
An’ when the bars are lowered how
they plunge across the lot
To where the “crick” is waitin’,
huntin’ for a shady spot
Where the overhangin’ willers make
an arch across the stream –
O, summer days in Gungy they are jest
a drowsy dream!
IV.
Then comes the meller music, an’
the rattle an’ the click,
Uv mowin’ machines advancin’ on the
grasses tall an’ thick;
They fall like rows uv soldiers
from the bullets uv their foes,
An’ lie upon the stubble in their
long an’ even rows.
The startled lark arises to the
blueness of the skies
Its mornin’ song mutated into wild
an’ wonderin’ cries;
The whet uv scythe is mingled with
the chorus’s rise and fall –
O, summer days in Gungy they are
sweetest uv ‘em all!
V.
Then when the sun is highest, at
the noon-hour uv the day,
When ev’rybuddy’s wishin’ ‘at the
sun would go away,
We stretch beneath the maples where
the shade is dense and deep,
An’ listen to a story or jest git a
nip of sleep.
A breeze comes up the valley from
the seashore miles away,
With jest a tinge uv saltiness ‘at
is sure to save the day;
An’ with the good well water that
is pure an’ cool an’ sweet –
O, summer days in Gungy, jest
believe me, can’t be beat!
VI.
Then when the shadders lengthen,
when the chores are out the way,
When romance fills the twilight, an’
young cupid rules the day,
We stroll together shyly, hand in
hand as lovers will,
Down to the banks uv Lizzard where
the world is cool and still.
O, ‘tis the ancient story, but it’s
ever sweet an’ new,
An’ maidens love to hear it here in
Gungy, yes they do!
An’ so the seasons enter, an’ jest
so they pass away;
But summer days in Gungy would they
evermore could stay!
July 12, ‘10
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