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Yet one by one her days depart, Unknown to care or need.
The paint is all worn off the chair
That she has had so long; She bought it at an orphan's fair,
When she was young and strong. She used to think the most of it,
That good old chair of yore: In it she sewed in it she knit,
And read her Bible o'er.
As a sensitive coon lay sleeping one day,
The sound of a wood-cutter's hatchet he heard ; So he jumped on a stump, to see what was to pay, And thus did he sing,aye, he sung like a bird, Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough, In youth it sheltered me, And I '11 stick to it now.
Hard by, in a pine, sat a sober old owl,
A fanning himself by the cold western breezes ; And he wore on his features a horrible scowl,
As he sung to the zephyrs that swept through the treeses: Blow ! O blow ! ye gentle breezes, All among the flowers and treezes, Till you give my blood the freezes.
A skunk and a 'possum then met,
And they shook hands and kissed, and most lovingly clung,