Dreary Days

Dreary days of “Lizzard Crick”,

     Now the summer’s come an’ gone;

Wind a-whistling down the “reach”

     Makes a feller feel forlorn.

Leaves hev tumbled from the trees,

     Reeds hev died an’ fallen down;

Boats turned downwards on the bank,

     Medder grass all dead an’ brown.

Wouldn’t mind the grass nur leaves

     Nur the tangled, dyin’ mess,

Medder oats an’ lily pads,

     But it’s – well, the lonesomeness!

All the logs are bleak an’ bare,

     Ain’t no turkles out in sight;

Ain’t no social bull-frogs now

     Talkin’ ‘crost the Crick at night.

Seems like ev’rything is gone,

     Singin’ birds an’ honey bees;

An’ a murmur uv complaint

     Sounds amongst the wavin’ tress.

Dreary days when winter drives

     All the frogs an’ turkles in;

An’ a feller jist feels blue

     Till they come aroun’ ag’in.

Oct. 19, ‘09

          

Salmon River, East Haddam