III The Mocking Bird

I was drinkin’ in the glory on a day Late in May, Feelin’ dreamy an’ delishus, like a chick’n, When she’s pick’n Tiny pebbles out o’ gravel, or a-fluffin’ An’ a-puffin’ All her feathers in a sunny nest o’ dust; An’ I cussed Sich a foolish world fer sweatin’ an’ a-swinkin’, An’ a-thinkin’ Thet a feller hez ter rustle an’ be snappy Tew be happy. ’Twas a nawful loafy mornin’—tell ye thet— An’ I set Watchin’ ev’ry livin’ critter feel ’is oats. My, them shoats! Say, yew’d orter heerd ’em gruntin’ an’ a-crunchin’ An’ a-munchin’, Jessif nuthin’ ever mattered in their creed ’Ceptin’ feed. An’ the pidjuns was a-cooin’ quite aloof On the roof; Thar was hosses, thar was heffers, thar was steers, Chanticleers, Perky hens, an’ turkey cocks, an’, ’pon my word, Ev’ry bird Thet I ever seen or heerd of—all a-croakin’, An’ a-soakin’ In ol’ Feebus’ dazzlin’ rajunce—all a-eatin’ An’ a-tweetin’— Jim’ny Crickets, Holy Kittens! Dew ye wonder Now, by thunder, ’T I was glad ter jes’ be livin’ on the earth? W’y, ’twas worth All the sorrer, all the pain ’t I ever had, ’Twas, by gad! But I gotta tell ye suthin’ ’t ’appened then; Ever b’en Whar a mockin’-bird was tunin’ up ’is fiddle? It’s a riddle How ’e symfonizes ev’ry sort o’ noise An’ employs A composer’s subterfujes (ez ye’ve noted) Single throated. Wal, I seen one settin’ up thar (knowed ’twas him) On a limb Of a deadish kind o’ ellum, ’n’ I could tell Jes’ ez well ’T ’e was cockyer than a roarin’ swearin’ pirate By the high rate He was thrashin’ o’ them wings o’ his, an’ tail Like a flail. First I tho’t I was a-list’nin’ tew a martin Sure for sartin; Then a blue-jay almos’ give me ’n awful shock With ’is squawk; I was jest a-gittin’ used ter hearin’ that bird, When a cat-bird Started in ter yowl an’ sputter, julluk Tabby When she’s gabby; Then some swallers, chickadees, an’ whippoorwills Give me thrills, An’ I tell ye I was altergether foozled, Jes’ bamboozled, Ez I watched that clever cynnic keep a-rockin’ An’ a-mockin’, Till at last he got so bubbly full o’ fizz Thet ’e riz Off thet lonely perch o’ his’n right up square Int’ the air, Still a-swingin’ an’ a-singin’ in ’is revel Like the devil! Then ’e come ri’ down agin an’ hit the spot Whar ’e’d sot; Hadn’t lost a single note—jes’ kep’ ’er goin’ ’S if he’s mowin’. Dew ye reckon I’ll fergit thet garrylus Little cuss? Wal, ye got anuther “reckon” comin’ then— Mebbe ten.