The
March winds whistle down the vale round “Otter P’int”
Till
all the trees along the shores seem twisted out o’ j’int;
Seems
like we’re frozen to the core, though bundled warm an’ thick –
It’s
spring upon the calendar, but not on “Lizzard Crick”.
The
long hills slope away to north, an’ on their sides we see
Great
patches here an’ there uv snow, background fur rock an’ tree;
The
brooks thet flow ‘neath hemlock boughs with ice are covered thick –
It’s
spring upon the calendar, but not on “Lizzard Crick”.
The
woodpiles round the neighborhood are gittin’ whittled down;
They
is a scarcity uv coal all through ol’ Gungy town.
Ef
things don’t take a sudden turn we’ll need some fuel quick –
It’s
spring within the almanac, but not on “Lizzard Crick”.
We’ve
got four feet uv frost here yit, an’ pipes are froze up snug,
So
when we hafter lubricate we grab the cider jug!
Things
won’t thaw out, so father says, till summer turns the trick –
It’s
spring upon the calendar, but not on “Lizzard Crick”.
c.
Nov. 22, 1910
(the
estimated date comes from adjoining poems and the paper used, including
condition. The subject, however, makes it seem as if it might have been written
in the late spring, presumably 1910 or 1911?)
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