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.

FISHING

  Wen I git up in de mo’nin’ an’ de clouds is big an’ black,
  Dey’s a kin’ o’ wa’nin’ shivah goes a-scootin’ down my back;
  Den I says to my ol’ ooman ez I watches down de lane,
  “Don’t you so’t o’ reckon, Lizy, dat we gwine to have some rain?”

  “Go on, man,” my Lizy answah, “you cain’t fool me, not a bit,
  I don’t see no rain a-comin’, ef you’s wishin’ fu’ it, quit;
  Case de mo’ you t’ink erbout it, an de mo’ you pray an’ wish,
  W’y de rain stay ’way de longah, spechul ef you wants to fish.”

  But I see huh pat de skillet, an’ I see huh cas’ huh eye
  Wid a kin’ o’ anxious motion to’ds de da’kness in de sky;
  An’ I knows whut she ‘s a-t’inkin’, dough she tries so ha’d to hide. 
  She ‘s a-sayin’, “Would n’t catfish now tas’e monst’ous bully, fried?”

  Den de clouds git black an’ blackah, an’ de thundah ’mence to roll,
  An’ de rain, it ‘mence a-fallin’.  Oh, I’s happy, bless my soul! 
  Ez I look at dat ol’ skillet, an’ I ’magine I kin see
  Jes’ a slew o’ new-ketched catfish sizzlin’ daih fu’ huh an’ me.

  ‘T ain’t no use to go a-ploughin’, fu’ de groun’ ’ll be too wet,
  So I puts out fu’ de big house at a moughty pace, you bet,
  An’ ol’ mastah say, “Well, Lishy, ef you t’ink hit ’s gwine to rain,
  Go on fishin’, hit ‘s de weathah, an’ I ’low we cain’t complain.”

  Talk erbout a dahky walkin’ wid his haid up in de aih! 
  Have to feel mine evah minute to be sho’ I got it daih;
  En’ de win’ is cuttin’ capahs an’ a-lashin’ thoo de trees,
  But de rain keeps on a-singin’ blessed songs, lak “Tek yo’ ease.”

  Wid my pole erpon my shouldah an’ my wo’m can in my han’,
  I kin feel de fish a-waitin’ w’en I strikes de rivah’s san’;
  Nevah min’, you ho’ny scoun’els, need n’ swim erroun’ an’ grin,
  I ‘ll be grinnin’ in a minute w’en I ’mence to haul you in.

  W’en de fish begin to nibble, an’ de co’k begin to jump,
  I ’s erfeahed dat dey ‘ll quit bitin’, case dey hyeah my hea’t go “thump,”
  ‘Twell de co’k go way down undah, an’ I raise a awful shout,
  Ez a big ol’ yallah belly comes a gallivantin’ out.

  Need n’t wriggle, Mistah Catfish, case I got you jes’ de same,
  You been eatin’, I ‘ll be eatin’, an’ we needah ain’t to blame. 
  But you need n’t feel so lonesome fu’ I ‘s th’owin’ out to see
  Ef dey ain’t some of yo’ comrades fu’ to keep you company.