Spearin’ Eels

O, how good a feller feels

W’en he’s spearin’ arter eels;

Jabbin’ in an icy hole

With a twenty-five foot pole,

W’ile th’ north win’ wissles col’.

Stoppin’ now an’ then ter w’ip

Every freezin’ finger tip,

An’ ter listen to the grunt

Thunderin’ frum the elermunt.

For ‘tis music to my soul,

Hearin’ them big ice cracks roll,

W’ile th’ north wind wissles col’.

An' once more I long ter be,

Summers nigh th’ big “ash tree”,

With er basket an’ er sled,

An’ er cap pulled o’er my head,

Walkin’ roun’ an’ roun’ th’ hole,

Jabbin’ with a limber pole,

W’ile the noth win’ wissles col’.

I hev fun er course, now day,

Takin’ in th’ shoes an’ plays;

Goin’ roun’ ter see th’ sights,

‘Neath the gay electric lights.

But the bes’ fun uv my life,

‘Cept the courtin’ uv a wife,

Wus ter stan’ down on th’ cove,

Ha’f a league beyond the grove,

Jabbin’ in an icy hole

‘Ith a twenty-five foot pole,

W’ile th’ north win’ wissles col’.

Nov. 21, ‘92

  Pub. in

Conn. Valley

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