Spring Will Come Ag’in

I kind o’ dread the winter’s cold, the wind an’ ice an’ snow;

Don’t like to be all bundled up like some ol’ Eskimeau.

Don’t like to see the cattle stan’ an’ shiver in the lane,

Or see the rusters on one laig ez tho’ they suffered pain.

I like to have my sleeves rolled up, an’ old, wide-brimmed straw hat,

An’ summertime, an’ limber j’ints, an’ freedom an’ all that;

An’ all the comfort I kin git when toastin’ foot an’ shin

Is in the thought that by an’ by the spring will come ag’in.

I ain’t young like I uster be, my blood is thick an’ slow,

An' I jes’ dread the winter gales, the slip’ry ice an’ snow.

Don’t like a bed that’s cold as ice, an’ frosty winder lights,

Nor kitchens in the mornin’s when the fire goes out o’ nights.

I like the “Crick” all clear uv ice, the boat tied on the shore,

An’ hev a chance to try my hand at pickerel once more.

An' all the comfort I kin git when winter keeps me in

Is in the thought thet after all the spring will come ag’in.

Dec. 25, 1903