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184 NEGRO DIALECT VERSES
Whar de golden sun's er sinkin', An' you doan sorter keer;
You waits for whut is comin', In de fall of de year.
You knows, a little later,
Mistuh Fros' he gwine to come An' candy dem persimmons,
Whut you gwine to gather some, While de possum is er fat'nin',
An' you meks dat 'simmon beer, For to drink wid dat ole possum,
In de fall of de year.
When de woods is look de fines'
In gold, an' green, an red, An' de apples is er tumblin'
F'um de limbs overhead, Dey's a tender sort er feelin',
Lak er crowdin' back a tear, An' dar's somebody missin'
In de fall of de year.
You does a heap er thinkin', Of de times dat done is pas',
De spring an' de summer-time, Dat went so mighty fas'; |
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