Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LETTIE, by JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LETTIE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Lettie-she lives in orchard room
Last Line: While I'm—wal, I'm a-nussin' her!
Subject(s): Hearts; Kisses; Love


LETTIE—she lives in Orchard Room,
An' the Square he lives near by.
Orchard Room is a world of bloom,
An' Lettie—she's its sky!
A valley of blossoms an' rose-perfume,
An' Lettie's the rose—O, my!

Her cheeks, she stole frum the peaches
Thet dimples an' pinks in the sun,
Her lips, frum the cherries; her eyes—black-berries;
Her laugh, frum the brooks thet run.
Her soul!—an angel drapt it onc't
'Bout the time her life begun.

The Square hed saunt his message,
An' hit created a stir!
He was "gwine ter marry Lettie
Or else know the reason fur"—
Rich, an' he'd buried fo' good wives—
Now he wanted to bury her!

I stopped Old Kate in the furrer;
I mounted an' rode erway,
I b'leeves in sowin' to-morrer
When I kno' I can reap to-day,
An' trouble—I never will borrer—
When I orter be makin' hay!

Down by the spring she was churnin'
Her calico tucked to her knees,
Her cheeks all flushed an' a burnin',
Her hair flung out to the breeze.
I looked—an' I felt my heart turnin'
To butter—an' then ergin inter cheese!

I rode to the fence beside her,
My heart went flippetty-flop,
'T was churnin' up champagne cider
An' sody an' ginger pop!
Old Kate hed nuthin' ter guide her
An' she nacherly cum to er stop.

"O, Lettie," I said, "my darlin',
Will you marry the old, fat Square?
His heart—hit's es cold as his gizzard—
His soul—hit's es scarce es his hair!
O, Lettie, sweet, why would the wild fawn
Mate with the polar bear?"

She ducked her head (it was takin'),
"O, Lettie, my heart you'll bust!
Will you really marry that bac'n?"
"Yes,"—slyly—"Zeke, 'spec I must!"
"O, Lettie, my darlin', why will ye?"
"Cause—cause—you didn't ax me fust!"

I grabbed her there an' I kissed her,
Kissed her over the fence,
An' I got me a preacher, Mister—
An' the Square ain't seed her sence!
Fur he's up at his house, in the attic,
An' they say he's a raisin' a stir
A-nussin' his gout an' rheumatic—
While I'm—wal, I'm a-nussin' her!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net