De gray owl sing f'um de cypress tree,
"Who-who-is you-oo?"
En I say, "Good Lawd, ef yo' look, yo'll see
Hit ain't nobody but des' po' me,
En I lak to stay twell ma' time is free;
Oh, wait, good Lawd, twell to-morrer."
SPOOKS' SURPRISE PARTY
THEY sat on the limb of a crabapple-tree,
A Bogy, a Spook and a little Banshee.
The wind blew north and the wind blew free—
Oh, 'twas a* merry meeting
The Bogy had eyes as big as a plate,
The Spook had feet number twenty-eight,
While the Banshee had covered her horrible pate
With the ghastliest kind of sheeting.
Said the Bogy at last with a dismal wail,
"To frighten folks now I always fail;
They laugh instead of becoming pale
When they at midnight meet me.
Our business is falling in disrepute,
It's neither productive of fame nor loot;
Back to the shades I think I'll scoot—
There the ghosts will be glad to greet me."
"Not far from here," croaked the grim Banshee
"Lives a lonely man of low degree;
Pale and sad and sickly he,
And 'twould be funny, very,
To frighten him into a fearful fit,
Just to liven us up a bit
Before we take our final flit
Over the spectral ferry.
