445

'Twas just this time, last year, I died
I know I heard the Corn
When I was carried by the Farms
It had the Tassels on

I thought how yellow it would look
When Richard went to mill
And then, I wanted to get out
But something held my will

I thought just how Red — Apples wedged
The Stubble's joints between
And the Carts stooping round the fields
To take the Pumpkins in

I wondered which would miss me, least
And when Thanksgiving, came
If Father'd multiply the plates
To make an even Sum

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me
But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way
How just this time, some perfect year
Themself, should come to me