And they’ve given this rusty scythe to me
—It has hung two years in an apple-tree—
And told me to trim along the edge
Where the mowing-machine has skipped the
ledge.
It seems, sah, skurcely a year ago
That I was a-showin’ ’em how to mow,
A-showin’ ’em how, with the tanglin’ grass
Topplin’ and failin’, to let me pass;
A-showing ’em how, with a five-foot steel,