Out on the porch. The sun hed jes’ went down;
The hens an’ chickens, ’thout no ’parent aim,
Was gravitatin’ towards the hen-house door;
The poults was floppin’ int’ the apple tree,
An’ Zony come acrost the dewy yard
A-bringin’ in the evenin’ mess o’ milk.
’Twas peaceful like, an’ I was tuckered out,
An’ thet thar corn-cob tasted pow’ful good.
I hedn’t hed a smoke sence noon, an’ co’se
I’d be’n a-cravin’ on’t sence supper’s over,