|
Her brother come this morning with a note What said that she was home and sick in bed; She's got an awful bad cold in her head— They think it might run into the sore throat, And oh, what if she'd not come back again, And they would get some other girl instead Of her to typewrite here, and she'd be dead? I wouldn't care no more for nothin' then. I wish I was the doctor that they'd get, And when I'd take her pulse I'd hold her hand And say "Poor little girl!" to her, and set Beside the bed awhile and kind of let My arm go 'round her, slow and careful, and Say, "Now put out your tongue a little, pet." |
XII.
|
She's back to work again; I'm awful glad; When she was sick it seemed to me as though The clocks all got to goin' kind of slow, And every key she pounds looked kind of sad. It's tough to have to hear her coughin' so— I wish that I could take her cold and she Would know I took it, and not have to blow Her nose no more, and be as well as me. She takes some kind of cough stuff in a spoon, I seen her lickin' it this morning when She took a dose and put it down again, And when the rest went out awhile at noon I got her spoon and licked it, and it seemed As though it all was something nice I dreamed. |
XIII.
|
Last night I dreamed about her in my sleep; I thought that her and me had went away Out on some hill where birds sung 'round all day, And I had got a job of herdin' sheep. I thought that she had went along to keep Me comp'ny, and we'd set around for hours Just lovin', and I'd go and gather flowers And pile them at her feet, all in a heap. It seemed to me like heaven, bein' there With only her besides the sheep and birds, And us not sayin' anything but words About the way we loved. I wouldn't care To ever wake again if I could still Dream we was there forever on the hill. |
