Sunday, June 8, 2008

Foggy Morning Mirage

Silent Silos In The Fertile Fields Of The Kaw River Valley
Standing Homage To Days Gone By


Some sing of the lily, and daisy, and rose
And the pansies and pinks that the summertime throws
In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays
Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days

But what is the lily and all of the rest
Of the flowers, to a man with a heart in his breast
That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew
Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew

I never set eyes on a clover-field now
Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow
But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plain
As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again

And I wonder away in a bare-footed dream
Where I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam
With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love
Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above

And so I love clover ... it seems like a part
Of the sacredest sorrows and joys of my heart
And wherever it blossoms, oh, there let me bow
And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now

And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die
To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye
And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom
While my soul slips away on a breath of perfume...

James Whitcomb Riley

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