Poetry Archives

The cat sleeps in a chimney jam
 With ashes in her fur,
An’ Tige, from on the yuther side,
 He keeps his eye on her.

The jar o’ curds is on the hearth,
 An’ I’m the one to turn it.
I’ll crawl in bed an’ go to sleep
 When maw begins to churn it.

Paw bends to read his almanax
 An’ study out the weather,
An’ bud has got a gourd o’ grease
 To ile his harness leather.

Sis looks an’ looks into the fire,
 Half-squintin’ through her lashes,
An’ I jis watch my tater where
 It shoots smoke through the ashes.