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James Whitcomb Riley - Kingry`s Mill
Work rating: Low

On old Brandywine-- about
Where White`s Lots is now laid out,
And the old crick narries down
To the ditch that splits the town--,
Kingry`s Mill stood. Hardly see
Where the old dam ust to be;
Shallor, long, dry trought o` grass
Where the old race ust to pass!

That`s be`n forty years ago--
Forty years o` frost and snow--
Forty years o` shade and shine
Sence them boyhood-days o` mine--!
All the old landmarks o` town.
Changed about, er rotted down!
Where`s the Tanyard? Where`s the Still?
Tell me where`s old Kingry`s Mill?

Don`t seem furder back, to me,
I`ll be dogg`d! Than yisterd`y,
Since us fellers, in bare feet
And straw hats, went through the wheat,
Cuttin` `crost the shortest shoot
Fer that-air old ellum root
Jest above the mill-dam-- where
The blame` cars now crosses there!

Through the willers down the crick
We could see the old mill stick
Its red gable up, as if
It jest knowed we`d stol`d the skiff!
See the winders in the sun
Blink like they wuz wonderun`
What the miller ort to do
With sich boys as me and you!

But old Kingry--! Who could fear
That old chap, with all his cheer--?
Leanin` at the window-sill,
Er the half-door o` the mill,
Swoppin` lies, and pokin` fun,
`N jigglin` like his hoppers done--
Laughin` grists o` gold and red
Right out o` the wagon-bed!

What did he keer where we went--?
"Jest keep out o` devilment,
And don`t fool around the belts,
Bolts, ner burrs, ner nothin` else
`Bout the blame machinery,
And that`s all I ast!" says-ee.
Then we`d climb the stairs, and play
In the bran-bins half the day!

Rickollect the dusty wall,
And the spider-webs, and all!
Rickollect the trimblin` spout
Where the meal come josslln` out--
Stand and comb yer fingers through
The fool-truck an hour er two--
Felt so sorto` warm-like and
Soothin` to a feller`s hand!

Climb, high up above the stream,
And "coon" out the wobbly beam
And peek down from out the lof`
Where the weather-boards was off--
Gee-mun-nee! w`y, it takes grit
Even jest to think of it--!
Lookin` `way down there below
On the worter roarin` so!

Rickollect the flume, and wheel,
And the worter slosh and reel
And jest ravel out in froth
Flossier`n satin cloth!
Rickollect them paddles jest
Knock the bubbles galley-west,
And plunge under, and come up
Drippin` like a worter-pup!

And to see them old things gone
That I onc`t was bettin` on,
In rale p`int o` fact, I feel
kindo` like that worter-wheel--,
Sorto` drippy-like and wet
Round the eyes-- but paddlin` yet,
And in mem`ry, loafin` still
Down around old Kingry`s Mill!
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