LAS' night Frost wuz purt' night here; Seen his tracks at break o' day. Ole Mount Poke stands out real clear, Though he's eighteen mile away. Flapjacks tasted comfortin', Coffee never drunk so good; Sure signs winter's settin' in Round about this neighborhood. Yet this wagon I'm a-drivin' Down the holler, up the hill, Holds a load o' things thet's hivin' Most o' summer's honey still; Thar'll be two, three bar'ls to fill -- Mebbe more -- when we're arrivin' At the Cider Mill. Apples fine, but nothin' like Old times. Seems ter me somehow When I was a little tike They wuz plentif'ler than now; Sweeter, too, they wuz, them days, An' the new juice of 'em went Slicker down my throat. Leastways Thar wuz somethin' different, Winesap, Spy, Bellflower an' Pippin, All as one then to my tongue; Long as thar wuz honey drippin' From press-spout or bar'l bung I jes' clung an' sucked an' clung, Sipped an' sipped an' kept on sippin' -- Thet's when I wuz young. Sweets like thet hez lost their power. Nowadays I often say: "Sweet hain't sweet until it's sour," Cider strikes me jest that way. Leastways here's a truth I hold From my own exper'encin': 'Taint new cider, but the old, Gits ye feelin' young agin. Take yer fill o' fresh juice, sonny; I don't want a single drop. But when it gits actin' "funny," Sizzin'-like an' bubblin' up, Like bees buzzin' in the cup, Leavin' stingers in the honey, Lemme have a sup! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BERTHA IN THE LANE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT EPITAPH: FOR MY GRANDMOTHER by COUNTEE CULLEN DOCTOR FELL by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS AFTER THE WINTER by CLAUDE MCKAY IDYLLS OF THE KING: THE MARRIAGE OF GERAINT by ALFRED TENNYSON |