Pig Pen Romance

Pig Pen Romance  The Yankees throwed us in the Briar PatchWe warn’t born and bred rabbits.So Mama stayed wi the white folksTill I was growed, at fifteenAn that boy Thad. . .  gad, he keep lookin at meMild like a sheep, lean and stupid as a calf.I noted that he follered me most every dayDown to the pig penAn he would stay till I was done.I says one day, Hey Mr Gundtharp,you is one big lumbering bull calfYou foller me most every morning and nightDown here to the pigpenYou moonin. . .? in love with one of these sows, here?Cause I sees you most every dayWatching my bucket sway over their headsBack and forth, back and forthTill the slop is empty.An I can’t tell which one it isWorth all that attentionYo eyes are goinBack and forth and back and forthAn don’t settle in one placeSo which one of them is you got a fancy for?I’ll come back later and declare your intentions,An he just grinned this great big country smileWhile he took the bucket outta my handI don think I ever heard him say a word, neverAnd not now neither.He just puts the bucket upside downand sets me on it.Then he gits all soft and mushyHolding my fingers, blowing on them, gettin them warm.Finally I gits him laughing with foolishnessAbout the little boar pigand tiny sow shoatAskin if they is the object of his affectionAn then in the middle of our guffawingI tips over on my back in the grassWith considerable lack of grace,The look on his face.An I callin out in the sudden silence,Listen here Thad GundtharpYou better loosen up that wooden tongueAn ask sumpthin.Say whut you meanWantin to visit the pigs so often.An all of a sudden, I realized he already did,

In his own wordless way.“That ever remain the happiest minuteOf my eighty two years.”