When Father Starts to Grind

Now father ain’t a sissor man

     Who wakes that dismal yell:

“Sissor to grind! Sissor to grind!”

     An’ rings a little bell.

Nor does he play in instrument,

     The hurdy-gurdy kind;

But this is jest the time o’ year

     When father starts to grind.

Pa he ain’t grindin’ corn or wheat,

     Nor grindin’ uv the poor;

But he is grindin’ jest the same,

     Uv that I’m sartin sure.

Becuz I’m allus on the job,

     I’m never left behind

When windfall apples hit the ground,

     An’ father starts to grind.

When father grinds it’s in a place

     Jest underneath the hill

It’s one of them low-roofed affairs

     Known ez a cider mill.

The ol’ hoss, too, is on the job

     So stiddy an’ so kind;

He jest walks round an’ round the track

     When father starts to grind.

I’m busy feedin’ apples in,

     But now and then I go

Down to the tub an’ hol’ a straw

     Where golden juices flow.

I do not care to be away,

     More fun right there I find;

E’en fishin’ hez to be put off

     When father starts to grind!

Aug 18, 09