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Paul Laurence Dunbar - A LetterPaul Laurence Dunbar - A Letter
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Dear Miss Lucy: I been t`inkin` dat I `d write you long fo` dis,   But dis writin` `s mighty tejous, an` you know jes` how it is.   But I `s got a little lesure, so I teks my pen in han`   Fu` to let you know my feelin`s since I retched dis furrin` lan`.   I `s right well, I `s glad to tell you (dough dis climate ain`t to blame),   An` I hopes w`en dese lines reach you, dat dey `ll fin` yo` se`f de same.   Cose I `se feelin kin` o` homesick--dat `s ez nachul ez kin be,   Wen a feller `s mo`n th`ee thousand miles across dat awful sea.   (Don`t you let nobidy fool you `bout de ocean bein` gran`;   If you want to see de billers, you jes` view dem f`om de lan`.)   `Bout de people? We been t`inkin` dat all white folks was alak;   But dese Englishmen is diffunt, an` dey `s curus fu` a fac`.   Fust, dey`s heavier an` redder in dey make-up an` dey looks,   An` dey don`t put salt nor pepper in a blessed t`ing dey cooks!   Wen dey gin you good ol` tu`nips, ca`ots, pa`snips, beets, an` sich,   Ef dey ain`t some one to tell you, you cain`t `stinguish which is which.   Wen I t`ought I `s eatin` chicken--you may b`lieve dis hyeah `s a lie--   But de waiter beat me down dat I was eatin` rabbit pie.   An` dey `d t`ink dat you was crazy--jes` a reg`lar ravin` loon,   Ef you `d speak erbout a `possum or a piece o` good ol` coon.   O, hit`s mighty nice, dis trav`lin`, an` I `s kin` o` glad I come.   But, I reckon, now I `s willin` fu` to tek my way back home.   I done see de Crystal Palace, an` I `s hyeahd dey string-band play,   But I has n`t seen no banjos layin` nowhahs roun` dis way.   Jes` gin ol` Jim Bowles a banjo, an` he `d not go very fu`,   `Fo` he `d outplayed all dese fiddlers, wif dey flourish and dey stir.   Evahbiddy dat I `s met wif has been monst`ous kin an` good;   But I t`ink I `d lak it better to be down in Jones`s wood,   Where we ust to have sich frolics, Lucy, you an` me an` Nelse,   Dough my appetite `ud call me, ef dey was n`t nuffin else.   I `d jes` lak to have some sweet-pertaters roasted in de skin;   I `s a-longin` fu` my chittlin`s an` my mustard greens ergin;   I `s a-wishin` fu` some buttermilk, an` co`n braid, good an` brown,   An` a drap o` good ol` bourbon fu` to wash my feelin`s down!   An` I `s comin` back to see you jes` as ehly as I kin,   So you better not go spa`kin` wif dat wuffless scoun`el Quin!   Well, I reckon, I mus` close now; write ez soon`s dis reaches you;   Gi` my love to Sister Mandy an` to Uncle Isham, too.   Tell de folks I sen` `em howdy; gin a kiss to pap an` mam;   Closin` I is, deah Miss Lucy, Still Yo` Own True-Lovin` Sam.   P. S. Ef you cain`t mek out dis letter, lay it by erpon de she`f,       An` when I git home, I `ll read it, darlin`, to you my own se`f.
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