Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/Ma's Posy Bed
MA'S POSY BEDS
When I come hum from work at noonAs tired as I can be,There is one mighty purty sceneIt does me good ter see,An' that is mother's posy beds,A-blushin' fit to kill,With butterflies and bees around,A-drinkin' o' their fill.
The air is brimmin' over withA hundred different scentsThat come from the syringa bushBeside the garden fenceAn' rose-bushes an' lilacs tallThat grow along the walk,—But they aint none o' them so gayAs my ole hollyhock.
Somehow I like the good ole kindsO' posies full as well,(Instead o those with Latin namesThat nobody can spell),Like mirigold an' asterzizAn' caliopsis fair,An' bleedin' hearts an' arder tonguesAn' ferns an' maidenhair.
Once when I'ze down ter Bosten town,As I wuz goin' past,I turned inter a posy placeWhere everything wuz glass,An' all the posies looked so paleAs though they'd like ter die,Jest like them little city waifs,It made me want ter cry.
I tell yer what, the country isThe place ter make things grow, No matter what the crap may be,The city haint no show;An' as for raisin" human soulsAn' givin' them a breathO' God's free air an' sunlight too,We beat um all ter death.