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The Old Home By The Mill.
By James Whitcomb Riley
This is "The old Home by the Mill" - far we still call it so,
Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago.
The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, and a few
Old cat-tails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you!
Here, Marg'et, fetch the man a tin to drink out of' Our spring
Keeps kindo-sorto cavin' in, but don't "taste" anything!
She's kindo agein', Marg'et is - "the old process," like me,
All ham-stringed up with rheumatiz, and on in seventy-three.
Jes' me and Marg'et lives alone here - like in long ago;
The childern all put off and gone, and married, don't you know?
One's millin' way out West somewhere; two other miller-boys
In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise.
The oldest gyrl - the first that went - married and died right here;
The next lives in Winn's Settlement - for purt' nigh thirty year!
And youngest one - was allus far the old home here - but no! -
Her man turns in and he packs her 'way off to Idyho!
I don't miss them like Marg'et does - 'cause I got her, you see;
And when she pines for them - that's 'cause she's only jes' got me!
I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all. - But talkin' sense, I'll say,
When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed the t'other way!
I haint so favorble impressed 'bout dyin'; but ef I
Found I was only second-best when us two come to die,
I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef Marg'et died, you see, -
I'd jes' crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me!
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