Eureka Daily Sentinel

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN.
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey cock,
And the clackin' of the guineas and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooper as he tiptoes on the fence,
O, it's then's the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of gracious rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
There's something kind o' hearty like about the atmosphere
When the heat of Summer's over and the coolin' Fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetisin', and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the early Autumn days
Is a picture that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.
The husky, rusty rustle of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubbl's in the furries—kind o' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed,
The hosses in their stalls below—the clover overhead!——
O, it sets my heart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!