We 've killed the fattest chicken an' we've cooked her to a turn; We 've made the richest gravy, but I jest don't give a durn Fur nothin' 'at I drink er eat, er nothin' 'at I see. The food ain't got the pleasant taste it used to have to me. They 's somep'n' stickin' in my throat ez tight ez hardened glue, Sence mother's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two. The hollyhocks air jest ez pink, they 're double ones at that, An' I wuz prouder of 'em than a baby of a cat. But now I don't go near 'em, though they nod an' blush at me, Fur they 's somep'n' seems to gall me in their keerless sort o' glee An' all their fren'ly noddin' an' their blushin' seems to say: "You 're purty lonesome, John, old boy, sence mother 's gone away." The neighbors ain't so fren'ly ez it seems they 'd ort to be; They seem to be a-lookin' kinder sideways like at me, A-kinder feared they 'd tech me off ez ef I wuz a match, An' all because 'at mother 's gone an' I 'm a-keepin' batch! I 'm shore I don't do nothin' worse 'n what I used to do 'Fore mother went a-visitin' to spend a month er two. The sparrers ac's more fearsome like an' won't hop quite so near, The cricket's chirp is sadder, an' the sky ain't ha'f so clear; When ev'nin' comes, I set an' smoke tell my eyes begin to swim, An' things aroun' commence to look all blurred an' faint an' dim. Well, I guess I 'll have to own up 'at I 'm feelin' purty blue Sence mother's gone a-visitin' to spend a month er two. GROWIN' GRAY Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray, An' it beats ole Ned to see the way 'At the crow's feet's a-getherin' aroun' yore eyes; Tho' it ought n't to cause me no su'prise, Fur there 's many a sun 'at you 've seen rise An' many a one you 've seen go down Sence yore step was light an' yore hair was brown, An' storms an' snows have had their way-- Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray. Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray, An' the youthful pranks 'at you used to play Are dreams of a far past long ago That lie in a heart where the fires burn low-- That has lost the flame though it kept the glow, An' spite of drivin' snow an' storm, Beats bravely on forever warm. December holds the place of May-- Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray. Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray-- Who cares what the carpin' youngsters say? For, after all, when the tale is told, Love proves if a man is young or old! Old age can't make the heart grow cold When it does the will of an honest mind; When it beats with love fur all mankind; Then the night but leads to a fairer day-- Hello, ole man, you 're a-gittin' gray! TO THE MEMORY OF MARY YOUNG