That's such a fun poem!
Those first couple of lines grab my senses so much: The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,/And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves,
With such descriptions, how can a person not be there! Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ‘s over
There are few sensations better than the sweetness of cider from my cousin's mill on a brisk autumn day...and then to bite into a crisp keeper!
and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter
>sigh<
But to me, thoughts of such wimmern-folk are like dreams of the wooly mammoth. (I mean, "visions of something extinct"... If I want "big and hairy," there are plenty in the Womyns' Studies department at the local university!
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!
Have to re-arrange that for your pic, yorkie!
"When the punkin is the shock and the frost is on it!" :-)
Hi, Gondring!
James Whitcomb Riley is my most favorite poet!
I have every volume he has ever written.
He writes as if he is talking to us
In his Hoosier dialect!
I have even toured his childhood home,
And touched his little trundle bed
That he wrote so often about.
Yes, times have surely changed,
Haven't they?