After Winter

He snuggles his fingers

In the blacker loam

The lean months are done with,

The fat to come.

— — His eyes are set

— — On a brushwood-fire

— — But his heart is soaring

— — Higher and higher.

Though he stands ragged

An old scarecrow,

This is the way

His swift thoughts go,

" Butter beans fo' Clara

Sugar corn fo' Grace

An' fo' de little feller

Runnin' space.

" Radishes and lettuce

Eggplants and beets

Turnips fo' de winter

An' candied sweets.

— — " Homespun tobacco

— — Apples in de bin

— — Fo' smokin' an' fo' cider

— — When de folks draps in. "

He thinks with the winter

His troubles are gone;

Ten acres unplanted

To raise dreams on.

— — The lean months are done with,

— — The fat to come.

— — His hopes, winter wanderers,

— — Hasten home.

" Butterbeans fo' Clara

Sugar corn fo' Grace

An' fo' de little feller

Runnin' space. . . . "

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