With wheat a dollar ninety Bill was peeved,
An’ ’taint no job ter figger why.
An’ next the forty west in alsike clover,
A field thet’s purty gin’ly dry,
A heavy rain hed kivered almos’ over
With water two three inches high.
Soon after Lon come in an’ sez ter me:
“Yew better tell Paw ’bout the rape;
It’s daid or ain’t come up; I reckon he
Do’ know it’s in sech awful shape.”