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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UNC' RASTUS TO MARSE DEWEY by AMELIA WOODWARD TRUESDELL

First Line: MY DEAR MARS DEWEY: WE SUTNEY IS PLEASE
Last Line: O' DE HEROES WHAT COMES F'M DE CONQ'RIN' O' SPAIN.
Subject(s): COURAGE; HEROISM; WAR; VALOR; BRAVERY; HEROES; HEROINES;
My Dear Mars Dewey: We sutney is please
Ter heah yo's aridin' de hom'ard seas,
But I laid off ter give yo' a wud in yer year,
Fer I's feared yo's gwine ter hev trouble right here.

'Twas jes' ter say dis—when yo' comes f'm de Souf,
Wharev'r yo' goes, don't open yer mouf,
Fer talkin' too much's ben de cuss an' de bane
O' de heroes what comes f'm de conq'rin' o' Spain.

Dey tole secret t'ings Marse Kaiser denied,
With strong sinervations dat somebody lied;
Dey writ de long letters chuck full o' advice,
'Bout pussons in hammocks what et up de ice;
'Bout de quarters an' rations—dat "roun'-robin" game.

Den de dinners! O Lord! de battles o' Spain
Wan't a circumstance 't all when't come ter champagne;
De fumes was wus dan de smell o' de powder,
An' dat big twel'-inch, he don' talk no louder;
Dar's all kin' o' enemies hid in dat wine,
Dey's thicker dan guns in de firin' line.
So twar quoilin' an' fussin' in 'spisable ways,
All aimin' ter git de bulk o' de praise
Away f'm de turr, like dey's chickens dat foun'
Dar wou'n't be wurrum ernuff ter go roun'.
But spite o' it all we hed a gre't fight,
Dis country, she's leadin' ter lef' an' ter right;
Hit don't mek no diffence on' lan' er on sea,
Dat's a sho' 'nuff fac' when yo' b'longs ter de free;
De blue er de gray, de black er de white,
Dey's all kin-folks when Ole Glory's in sight.
If I's brash in persumin' ter speak out so bole,
It's 'case I's preacher an' toler'ble ole,
But we sees right smart' hin' de gent'men's chairs,
An' I jes 'lowed ter give yo' a hint ter bewares.

Dey'll mek percessions ter tote yo' roun'
Wid jubilee fixin's in ebery town,
Twel de row's es loud es a big camp meetin',
An' yo's natchelly 'bleeged ter git shet o' dat treatin'.
I tek noticement how yo's refused so far,
But sometime de home-comin's de tug-o'-de-war.

So don't tek no 'fense at de 'marks o' a friend
Wot's bragged on yer doin's f'm b'ginnin' ter end;
Yo's leadin' de row, yo's top o' de pot,
Yo's de onliest Admur'l we all's got,
An' we wants yo' ter stay at de head o' de winners.
Dat's huccome we say: "Fight shy o' dem dinners."
So dear Marse George, when yo' comes f'm de Souf,
Wharev'r yo' goes, don't open yer mouf,
Fer talkin' too much's ben de cuss an' de bane
O' de heroes what comes f'm de conq'rin' o' Spain.



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