Washing Day
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HE little gipsy vi'lits, they wus peepin' thro' the green
As she come walkin' in the grass, me little wife, Doreen.
The sun shone on the sassafras, where thrushes sung a bar.
—The 'ope an' worry uv our lives wus yellin' fer 'is Mar.—
I watched 'er comin' down the green; the sun wus on 'er 'air—
Jist the woman that I marri'd, when me luck wus 'eadin' fair.
I seen 'er walkin' in the sun that lit our little farm.
She 'ad three clothes-pegs in 'er mouth, an' washin' on 'er arm—
Three clothes-pegs, fer I counted 'em, an' watched 'er as she come.
"The stove-wood's low," she mumbles, "an' young Bill 'as cut 'is thumb,"
Now, it weren't no giddy love-speech, but it seemed to take me straight
Back to the time I kissed 'er first beside 'er mother's gate.
