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Paul Laurence Dunbar - Soliloquy Of A Turkey
Work rating: Low

Dey `s a so`t o` threatenin` feelin` in de blowin` of de breeze,
    An` I `s feelin` kin` o` squeamish in de night;
  I `s a-walkin` `roun` a-lookin` at de diffunt style o` trees,
    An` a-measurin` dey thickness an` dey height.
  Fu` dey `s somep`n mighty `spicious in de looks de da`kies give,
    Ez dey pass me an` my fambly on de groun,`
  So it `curs to me dat lakly, ef I caihs to try an` live,
    It concehns me fu` to `mence to look erroun`.

  Dey`s a cu`ious kin` o` shivah runnin` up an` down my back,
    An` I feel my feddahs rufflin` all de day,
  An` my laigs commence to trimble evah blessid step I mek;
    W`en I sees a ax, I tu`ns my head away.
  Folks is go`gin` me wid goodies, an` dey `s treatin` me wid caih,
    An` I `s fat in spite of all dat I kin do.
  I `s mistrus`ful of de kin`ness dat`s erroun` me evahwhaih,
    Fu` it `s jes` too good, an` frequent, to be true.

  Snow `s a-fallin` on de medders, all erroun` me now is white,
    But I `s still kep` on a-roostin` on de fence;
  Isham comes an` feels my breas`bone, an` he hefted me las` night,
    An` he `s gone erroun` a-grinnin` evah sence.
  `T ain`t de snow dat meks me shivah; `t ain`t de col` dat meks me
       shake;
    `T ain`t de wintah-time itse`f dat`s `fectin` me;
  But I t`ink de time is comin`, an` I `d bettah mek a break,
    Fu` to set wid Mistah Possum in his tree.

  Wen you hyeah de da`kies singin`, an` de quahtahs all is gay,
    `T ain`t de time fu` birds lak me to be `erroun`;
  Wen de hick`ry chip is flyin`, an` de log `s been ca`ied erway,
    Den hit`s dang`ous to be roostin` nigh he groun`.

  Grin on, Isham! Sing on, da`kies! But I flop my wings an` go
    Fu` de sheltah of de ve`y highest tree,
  Fu` dey `s too much close ertention--an` dey`s too much fallin` snow--
    An` it`s too nigh Chris`mus mo`nin` now fu` me.
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