Dad’s Big Melon Patch

There wuz a time, in early spring, I dreaded most to scratch,

Frum early morn till late at night in dad’s big melon patch.

The patch it looked ten acres long by seven acres wide,

An’ every hill a mountain top, with valleys close beside,

An’ then the hoe I hed to use weighed all uv twenty pound,

An’ strained the sockets uv my arms at every stroke an’ bound;

The soil, tho’ light, it seemed to hug the dusty earth like lead,

An’ every hill I hed to make choked up my soul with dread.

An’ every year, in early spring, I dreaded most to scratch

With heavy hoe an’ achin’ hand in dad’s big melon patch.

You see the river laid close by, an’ sparkled in the sun,

Jes’ tantalizin’ uv my soul with every gleam it spun;

An’ every ripple, all day long, jest beckoned me aside,

An’ showed me where a fish lay hid beneath the silver tide.

An’ when all this wuz hauntin’ me, how could a feller scratch,

With stiddy stroke an’ right good will in dad’s big melon patch?

But when the autumn sun shone warm, an’ dew lay on the grass,

An’ we hed shocked the field uv corn, an’ housed the garden sass,

An’ when the nuts began to turn, an’ cockle burs to catch,

I hed no dread to spend an hour in dad’s big melon patch!

Fur then would glisten in the sun them fellers long an’ green,

With meller juicy red insides, fit fur a king or queen;

An’ when a-straddle uv the fence, with melons a hull batch,

I soon furgot my sufferin’s, in dad’ big melon patch!

An’ so it is with every soul, this hull great human batch,

We hev our mole-hill mountains, here in life’s big melon patch.

We murmur an’ we magnify, an’ dread to do a job,

An’ look out on the river, yearnin’ fur its lazy throb.

We fain would throw away the hoe an’ laze beside the stream,

An’ let the melons plant themselves, an’ fish an’ idly dream.

But when at last success hez come, we gobble down our catch,

An’ soon furgit the trials we’ve hed in life’s big melon patch.

Sept. 18, ‘98

Pub. N.Y. Herald, Nov. 27, ‘98