AS on along through life I go, A-meeting folks I used to know, Some feller, say, from District Three, Who used to set, perhaps, with me; Some chap from District number Nine Whose tippet cost the same as mine— It's always great to hear 'em tell How long they farmed, and Oh! how well; The corn they husked, and Oh! how quick, The apples that they used to pick; But 'fore we part I often say, In jest a nonchalantic way, "I s'pose they're using on the whole The same old sort of apple pole." And then to string along the jest I 'low that birch was 'bout the best, That elm was fair and hickory good, Or any swishy kind of wood; And don't you know that two or three Have pretty near got mad at me: They never used a pole, I guess, With any comprehensiveness; Or else they didn't peel the tip, Or kept it where the eaves would drip; Or else they rushed their work so fast They left it where they used it last; Or else, perhaps, their pole was stole, Or else they never had a pole. For, Sakes Alive! our pole will stay With me till apples pass away; The pole we stored beneath the eaves And kept from townies, toughs and thieves; Of all the things that's worth a cheer, Of all the early things that's dear, Is that betapered pole that made The highest apple feel afraid; That brought the golden Russets down As gems to grace Pomona's crown; The way it made the "Gransirs" drop You'd think, By Gosh! they'd never stop; In picking times, upon my soul, 'Twas one of us—our apple pole. To take that pole and whip a tree Was sure a harvest jubilee; The apples fell in spumey spray And lay in winrows jest like hay; We'd pick a cartful up, ker-pop, And then lay bagfuls 'long on top; If going home had been up-hill I guess we'd been a-stuck there still; If I can have as fine a wand, A pole like ours in worlds beyond, I'll pick at my eternal ease The fruit of the Hesperides, And 'grave on my celestial scroll A picture of our apple pole. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONE POET VISITS ANOTHER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES MOVE UPWARD by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE YOUNG BROTHER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO A JUNE BREEZE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER A SOLILOQUY ON READING THE 5TH AND 8TH VERSES OF THE 37TH PSALM by JOHN BYROM |