 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
74
LITTLE FLO.
Yaas, that was many years ago
This glorious September,
Ah, though my hair is white as snow,
How well I kin remember
The hopes, the fright, the joy, the fears,
That early autumn mornin',
The tremblin' and the burnin' tears,
While baby was a bornin'.
This glorious September,
Ah, though my hair is white as snow,
How well I kin remember
The hopes, the fright, the joy, the fears,
That early autumn mornin',
The tremblin' and the burnin' tears,
While baby was a bornin'.
She was in thar, an' I outside,
Whar I could hear her cryin',
I felt like I could go and hide,
I swar 'twas wuss nor dyin',
To think that I, I hadn't sand,
With all my pride and scornin',
Ter hold her leettle tremblin' hand,
While baby was a bornin'.
Whar I could hear her cryin',
I felt like I could go and hide,
I swar 'twas wuss nor dyin',
To think that I, I hadn't sand,
With all my pride and scornin',
Ter hold her leettle tremblin' hand,
While baby was a bornin'.
I looked up at the blazin' sun,
Ah, as the clock struck seven,
I thought I seen a little one,
Come sailin' down from Heaven.
And then I heern a feeble cry,
I knew the tiny warnin'
It seemed to come straight from the sky,
Ah, baby was a bornin'.
Ah, as the clock struck seven,
I thought I seen a little one,
Come sailin' down from Heaven.
And then I heern a feeble cry,
I knew the tiny warnin'
It seemed to come straight from the sky,
Ah, baby was a bornin'.
75
She was the fust,—'twas years ago,
And yet she is the dearest,
An' to my heart my little Flo
Seems, somehow, allus nearest.
I guess it must ha' been cos I,
That dre'ful autumn mornin',
Stood at the door and heern the cry
Of little baby bornin'.
And yet she is the dearest,
An' to my heart my little Flo
Seems, somehow, allus nearest.
I guess it must ha' been cos I,
That dre'ful autumn mornin',
Stood at the door and heern the cry
Of little baby bornin'.
May 29th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |