The Berry-Pickin'
Ah fetch mah ole baskit, en 'long de pike Ah goes,'Hine Midge'n Jube'n, dem what's leadin' lil bose,Ah ain't gettin' 'long so swif'n fas',But, Ah ain't minin' none bein' lef' to de las',—'Cause dem chillun's miratin' en talkin' dat wiseDey ain't seein' nuffin' wid dey two eyes!
De medder's dat white wid de lace-flower spraid,—Lak de lace Ole Miss wear Sundays on' er haid;—Dem yaller-belt bees, dey hum, en dey hum,Lak de fiddles'n banjos when harvest time come.Mebby you ain't heerd dem banjos'n fiddles thumpin'Down 'hine de barn! Dem tunes was sumpin'! . . .
Be blue'n yaller butterflies went beckonin' befo''Tel bumbye, Ah says: "Ah'm comin'," en follers 'em, desso,Down whar de crick is a-laffin' in de shadeLak it know sumpin' good, what it nebber yit said;En Ah says,—"You crick, quit yo' laffin' at me,'Less you tell what you hidin' dat a body cayn't see!"
Ah sets down 'longside it. De trees tech de skyMos' lak a chu'ch, dat still 'n dat high:De light slip thoo so dim en so clean'Peared lak sumpin' Ah'd a'ready seen,En Ah says, "Huccome Ah knowed how you-all gwine look?"'Den Ah 'members . . . 'twis "Peace o' God" set down in de Book,En Ah says,—'Yas, Lawd, You ain't leab me onderstan',But, You sho'ly spill dat peace heah, f'om de holler ob Yo' han'!"
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