Idylls of the Skillet Fork

by Payson Sibley Wild

’Twas a Sunday in March ez we set on a log

In a break in the woods, whar the crick makes a jog,

An’ hez et int’ the bank an’ up under the mill,

Thet the story herewith was related by Bill.

“Years ago, forty odd, wild hogs was ez thick

In these ’ere Skillet bottoms ez ‘cats’ in the crick.

They follered the mast (tho’ I ain’t meanin’ shippin’),

An’ ’long in the Fall got ez fat ez a pippin.

My Paw uster hunt ’em with dawgs on the run,

So ’z ter git us our pork ’fore the Winter begun;