The Crick In Winter

I like ol’ “Lizzard” days like these,

     Although it’s frozen tight,

An’ all its charms appear to be

     Deep buried frum my sight.

When all the hills fur miles around,

     Where pine and hemlock grow,

Lie buried ‘neath a coverlet

     Uv white an’ glistnin’ snow.

There is a quiet in the woods

     An’ on the river then

Which can’t be found at other times –

     A rest thet’s good fur men.

I like to wander ‘neath the hill,

     Protected frum the wind,

Jest where the sun shines bright an’ warm,

     An’ sorter ‘fresh my mind.

With dreams uv happy bygone days,

     Uv swimmin’ in the bend;

Uv fishin’ on the “Pick’rel Ground”,

     An’ “Bull-head Hole” beyend.

The ol’ cane pole, the leaky boat,

     The baler ‘neath the seat;

All crowd my vision an’ disclose

     A picture calm an’ sweet.

I like the “Crick” in wintertime,

     Altho’ so cold an’ still;

There’s pleasure on its frozen stretch,

     An’ on each snow-clad hill.

Fur one hez time to set an’ dream

     Beside the crackin’ blaze,

About the joys uv times apast,

     An' comin’ summer days!

Jan. 17, ‘07