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James Whitcomb Riley - When The Frost Is On The Punkin
Work rating: Medium

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder`s in the shock, 
     And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin` turkey-cock, 
     And the clackin` of the guineys, and the cluckin` of the hens, 
     And the rooster`s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; 
     O, it`s then`s the times a feller is a-feelin` at his best, 
     With the risin` sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest, 
     As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock, 
     When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder`s in the shock. 
     They`s something kindo` harty-like about the atmusfere 
    When the heat of summer`s over and the coolin` fall is here — 
    Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees, 
    And the mumble of the hummin`-birds and buzzin` of the bees; 
    But the air`s so appetizin`; and the landscape through the haze 
    Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days 
    Is a pictur` that no painter has the colorin` to mock — 
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder`s in the shock. 
    The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, 
    And the raspin` of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn; 
    The stubble in the furries — kindo` lonesome-like, but still 
    A-preachin` sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill; 
    The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed; 
    The hosses in theyr stalls below — the clover over-head! — 
    O, it sets my hart a-clickin` like the tickin` of a clock, 
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder`s in the shock! 
    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, and your wimmern-folks is through 
    With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too!… 
    I don`t know how to tell it — but ef sich a thing could be 
    As the Angels wantin` boardin`, and they`d call around on me — 
    I`d want to `commodate `em — all the whole-indurin` flock — 
    When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder`s in the shock!
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