|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
SONGS OF WAR AND PEACE 175
An' yit I know'd her father
Was away beyond life's ills, So I tuck her to Kentucky
To my home among the hills.
We raised her jest as good an' true,
As ef she'd been our own, Blood of mine and mother's,
And bone of our bone, An* she's been as good a daughter
As any of the three, An' a blessing to my homestead,
An' to mother an' to me.
She's thirty-six, or thereabouts,
I can't exactly tell— But she married in the neighborhood,
And married monstrous well; An' she's got a little daughter,
That prattles at my knee, An' 'minds me heaps of Rhoda,
Down at Shiloh—don't you see ?