Fer deys tings in dyah dat nuvver show
Tel de dark come on an' de daylight go;
An' dey races an' runs, an' dey flaars an' fla'nts,
An' dey hone fer bad chilluns, dey does, dem Hants!
When De Folks is Gone.
By James Whitcomb Riley.
[By permission of the Author.]
What dat scratchin' at de kitchin do'?
Done heah'n dat foh an hour er mo'!
Tell you, Mr. Niggah, das sho's yo' bo'n,
Hit's might lonesome waitin' when de folks is gone!
Blame my trap! how de wind do blow!
An' dis is das de night for de witches, sho!
Dey's trouble goin' to waste when de ole slut whine,
An' you heah de cat a-spittin' when de moon don't shine!
Chune my fiddle, an' de bridge go "bang!"
An' I lef ' er right whah she alius hang.
An' de tribble snap short an' de apern split
When dey no mortal man wah a-techin' hit!
Dah! Now what? How de ole j'ice cracks!
'Spec' dis house, ef hit tell plain fac's,
'Ud talk about de ha'nts wid dey long tails on
What dasn't on'y come when de folks is gone!
What I tuk an' done ef a sho-nuff ghos'
Pop right up by de ole bed-pos'?
What dat shinin' fru de front do' crack?
God bress de Lo'd! hits de folks got back!
