III
The Mocking Bird
I was drinkin’ in the glory on a day
Late in May,
Feelin’ dreamy an’ delishus, like a chick’n,
When she’s pick’n
Tiny pebbles out o’ gravel, or a-fluffin’
An’ a-puffin’
All her feathers in a sunny nest o’ dust;
An’ I cussed
Sich a foolish world fer sweatin’ an’ a-swinkin’,
An’ a-thinkin’
Thet a feller hez ter rustle an’ be snappy
Tew be happy.
’Twas a nawful loafy mornin’—tell ye thet—
An’ I set
Watchin’ ev’ry livin’ critter feel ’is oats.
My, them shoats!
Say, yew’d orter heerd ’em gruntin’ an’ a-crunchin’
An’ a-munchin’,
Jessif nuthin’ ever mattered in their creed
’Ceptin’ feed.
An’ the pidjuns was a-cooin’ quite aloof
On the roof;
Thar was hosses, thar was heffers, thar was steers,
Chanticleers,
Perky hens, an’ turkey cocks, an’, ’pon my word,
Ev’ry bird
Thet I ever seen or heerd of—all a-croakin’,
An’ a-soakin’
In ol’ Feebus’ dazzlin’ rajunce—all a-eatin’
An’ a-tweetin’—
Jim’ny Crickets, Holy Kittens! Dew ye wonder
Now, by thunder,
’T I was glad ter jes’ be livin’ on the earth?
W’y, ’twas worth
All the sorrer, all the pain ’t I ever had,
’Twas, by gad!
But I gotta tell ye suthin’ ’t ’appened then;
Ever b’en
Whar a mockin’-bird was tunin’ up ’is fiddle?
It’s a riddle
How ’e symfonizes ev’ry sort o’ noise
An’ employs
A composer’s subterfujes (ez ye’ve noted)
Single throated.
Wal, I seen one settin’ up thar (knowed ’twas him)
On a limb
Of a deadish kind o’ ellum, ’n’ I could tell
Jes’ ez well
’T ’e was cockyer than a roarin’ swearin’ pirate
By the high rate
He was thrashin’ o’ them wings o’ his, an’ tail
Like a flail.
First I tho’t I was a-list’nin’ tew a martin
Sure for sartin;
Then a blue-jay almos’ give me ’n awful shock
With ’is squawk;
I was jest a-gittin’ used ter hearin’ that bird,
When a cat-bird
Started in ter yowl an’ sputter, julluk Tabby
When she’s gabby;
Then some swallers, chickadees, an’ whippoorwills
Give me thrills,
An’ I tell ye I was altergether foozled,
Jes’ bamboozled,
Ez I watched that clever cynnic keep a-rockin’
An’ a-mockin’,
Till at last he got so bubbly full o’ fizz
Thet ’e riz
Off thet lonely perch o’ his’n right up square
Int’ the air,
Still a-swingin’ an’ a-singin’ in ’is revel
Like the devil!
Then ’e come ri’ down agin an’ hit the spot
Whar ’e’d sot;
Hadn’t lost a single note—jes’ kep’ ’er goin’
’S if he’s mowin’.
Dew ye reckon I’ll fergit thet garrylus
Little cuss?
Wal, ye got anuther “reckon” comin’ then—
Mebbe ten.