48 POETRY OF SMOKE. 



IN THE OL' TOBACKER 

 PATCH. 



J JESS kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know 



what to do, 

 When I think about them days we used to 



spend 

 A-hoein' our tobacker in th' clearin' me an' 



you 



An' a-wishin' that the day was at an end. 

 For the dewdrops was a-sparklin' on the 



beeches' tender leaves 

 As we started out a-workin' in the morn ; 

 An' th' noonday sun was sendin' down a shower 



of burnin' leaves 



When we heard the welcome-soundin' dinner- 

 horn. 

 An' th' shadders round us gathered in a sort of 



ghostly batch, 



'Fore we started home from workin' in that 

 ol' tobacker patch. 



I'm a-feelin' mighty lonesome, as I look aroun* 



to-day, 

 For I see th' change that's taken place since 



then. 

 All th' hills is brown and faded, for th' woods 



is cleared away, 



You an' me has changed from ragged boys 

 to men ; 



