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The music is Stepping Stones
by Bruce DeBoer
Copyright 1999-2001 by Bruce DeBoer
used with permission
Isn't autumn a beautiful time of the year? All the beautiful colors, a crispness in the air, the smell of woodfires and leaves burning, and big yellow pompoms. There are so many wonderful festivals.
WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN
by James Whitcomb Riley
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the
shock1,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-
cock
And the clackin' of the guineys2, and the cluckin' of the
hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful
rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the
stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the
shock.
They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here -
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the
haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock -
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the
shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries - kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below - the clover overhead! -
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the
shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks is
through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and
saussage, too! ...
I don't know how to tell it - but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me
-
I'd want to 'commodate 'em - all the whole-indurin' flock -
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the
shock!
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