Riley Farm-Rhymes

OLD-FASHIONED ROSES

     They ain't no style about 'em,
       And they're sorto' pale and faded,
     Yit the doorway here, without 'em,
      Would be lonesomer, and shaded
       With a good 'eal blacker shadder
        Than the morning-glories makes,
       And the sunshine would look sadder
        Fer their good old-fashion' sakes,

     I like 'em 'cause they kindo'—
      Sorto' MAKE a feller like 'em!
     And I tell you, when I find a
      Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em,
     It allus sets me thinkin'
      O' the ones 'at used to grow
     And peek in thro' the chinkin'
      O' the cabin, don't you know!

     And then I think o' mother,
      And how she ust to love 'em—
     When they wuzn't any other,
      'Less she found 'em up above 'em!
        And her eyes, afore she shut 'em,
         Whispered with a smile and said
        We must pick a bunch and putt 'em
         In her hand when she wuz dead.

     But, as I wuz a-sayin',
      They ain't no style about 'em
     Very gaudy er displaying
      But I wouldn't be without 'em,—
       'Cause I'm happier in these posies,
         And the hollyhawks and sich,
      Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses
         In the roses of the rich.