Comin’ Cider Time

A feelin’ allus comes to me

     About this time of year,

A feelin’ I can’t quite explain,

     That’s sort o’ passin’ queer.

I hev to talk uv it to folks,

An’ sing uv it in rhyme;

It hits me in the ‘arly fall

     Jest comin’ cider time.

A strange ol’ knowin’ in my breast,

     Tongue sort o’ parched an’ dry;

A chokin’ feelin’ in my throat

     That stays right stiddy by.

Comes on ez reg’lar ez the year

     Comes round on wings sublime!

An’ gits me all unsettled like

     Jest comin’ cider time.

Can’t reckylect no other time

     O’ year I feel the same;

The spring, o’ course, jest makes a chap

     Unruly an’ untame,

But this remembrance uv fall

     Jest borders on a crime;

I git to feelin’ desp’rit then,

 Jest comin’ cider time.

No way uv headin’ uv it off,

     Can’t git no rest until

I take a jaunt down through the lots

     An’ stop at Jones’s mill.

I run a straw twelve inches long

     Down in the juices prime,

An’ drink till them bad feelin’s go,

     Jest comin’ cider time.

Aug. 6, ‘09