Volume 9 , Issue 9

March Winds

[Transcribed by OkieLegacy & LK McGill Wagner from Scott Cummins book, "Musings of the Pilgrim Bard," page 13.]

When the old house keeps a rockin',
Like as if 'twas goin' to fall;
And the pebbles keep a knockin' --
Knockin' 'gainst the fragile wall,
Sets a tired feller thinkin'
Of fell goblin, wraith or fiend,
Fancy into fancy linkin',
Yet 'tis nothin' but the wind;
Roar, roar, rattle door,
Through each cranny in the floor.
Through each crack and crevice small,
Where a chigger scarce could crawl,
Every seam 'tis sure to find,
O beshrew, the bleak March wind.
All day long, to feed the critters,
I have tried my level best;
Tears my fodder into fritters.
Splits the endgate of my vest;
Almost sets a feller cussin',
Yet to well I understand,
If I ope' my mouth a fussin'
'Twould soon fill with dust and sand;
Shriek, Shriek, creak, creak --
Seven long days in a week;
Though my language seem unkind,
Devil take the bleak March wind.
Now adieu, my lamp burns dimly,
Sleep and rest I needs must try;
Let the roaring round my chimney
Be a soothing lullaby.
This my pray'r before undressin,
Hopeless pray'r with pathos filled,
That the wind may cease caressin'
Nature, and a while be still'd;
Scream, scream, while I dream
'Till the sun with lurid gleam
Wakes me to resume the fight
With the hurricanish sprite,
Respite body, respite mind,
From the raging of the wind.
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