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Wit and Humor of America, The Vol 04

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<h2>COMIN' HOME THANKSGIVIN'</h2> <h3>BY JAMES BALL NAYLOR</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I've clean fergot my rheumatiz— Hain't nary limp n'r hobble; I'm feelin' like a turkey-cock— An' ready 'most to gobble; I'm workin' spry, an' steppin' high— An' thinkin' life worth livin'. Fer all the children's comin' home All comin' home Thanksgivin'. </div> <div class="stanza"> There's Mary up at Darby Town, An' Sally down at Goshen, An' Billy out at Kirkersville, An' Jim—who has a notion That Hackleyburg's the very place Fer which his soul has striven; They're all a-comin' home ag'in— All comin' home Thanksgivin'. </div> <div class="stanza"> Yes—yes! They're all a-comin' back; There ain't no ifs n'r maybes. The boys'll fetch the'r wives an' kids; The gals, th'r men an' babies. The ol' place will be upside-down; An' me an' Mammy driven To roost out in the locus' trees— When they come home Thanksgivin'. </div> <div class="stanza"> Fer Mary she has three 'r four Mischeevous little tykes, sir, An' Sally has a houseful more— You never seen the like, sir; While Jim has six, an' Billy eight— They'll tear the house to flinders, An' dig the cellar out in chunks An' pitch it through the winders. </div> <div class="stanza"> The gals 'll tag me to the barn; An' climb the mows, an' waller All over ev'ry ton o' hay— An' laugh an' scream an' holler. The boys 'll git in this an' that; An' git a lickin'—p'r'aps, sir— Jest like the'r daddies used to git When they was little chaps, sir. </div> <div class="stanza"> But—lawzee-me!—w'y, I won't care. I'm jest so glad they're comin', I have to whistle to the tune That my ol' heart's a-hummin'. An' me an' Mammy—well, we think It's good to be a-livin', Sence all the children's comin' home To spend the day Thanksgivin'. </div> </div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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