Thursday, November 02, 2006

Sleepin' At The Foot O' The Bed

It's due to get good and cold tonight...FINALLY. Down into the thirties, so they promise. In honor of warm quilts and snugglin', here's a fun winter poem of old.

Sleepin’ At The Foot O’ The Bed
By Luther Patrick


Did ye ever sleep at the foot o’ the bed
When the weather wuz whizzin’ cold,
When the wind wuz a-whistlin’ aroun’ the house
An’ the moon wuz yeller ez gold,
An give your good warm feathers up
To Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Fred-
Too many kinfolks on a bad, raw night
And you went to the foot o’ the bed-
Fer some dern reason the coldest night o’ the season
An’ you wuz sent to the foot o’ the bed.

I could allus wait till the old folks et
An’ then eat the leavin’s with grace,
The teacher could keep me after school
An’ I’d still hold a smile on my face,
I could wear the big boys’ wore-out clothes
Er let sister have my sled,
But it allus did git my nanny goat
To have to sleep at the foot o’ the bed;
They’s not a location topside o’ creation
That I hate like the foot o’ the bed.

‘Twuz fine enough when the kinfolks come-
The kids brought brand-new games,
You could see how fat all the old folks wuz,
An’ learn all the babies’ names,
Had biscuits an’ custard and chicken pie,
An’ allus got Sunday fed,
But you knowed dern well when night come on
You wuz headed fer the foot o’ the bed;
You couldn’t git by it, they wuz no use to try it,
You wuz headed fer the foot o’ the bed.

They tell me that some folks don’t know whut it is
To have company all over the place,
To rassel fer cover thru a long winter night
With a big foot settin’ in your face,
Er with cold toenails a-scratchin’ your back
An’ a footboard a-scrubbin’ your head;
I’ll tell the wide world you ain’t lost a thing
Never sleepin’ at the foot o’ the bed;
You can live jest as gladly an’ die jest as sadly
‘N’ never sleep at the foot o’ the bed.

I’ve done it, an’ I’ve done it a many uv a time
In this land o’ brave an’ the free,
An’ in this all-fired battle uv life
It’s done left its mark upon me,
Fer I’m allus a-strugglin’ around at the foot
Instead of forgin’ ahead,
An’ I don’t think it’s caused by a doggone thing
But sleepin’ at the foot o’ the bed;
I’ve lost all my claim on fortune an’ fame,
A-sleepin’ at the foot o’ the bed.

1 comment:

Marg said...

This is one of my favorite poems!! My Daddy used to read it to me when I was little, and it never fails to make me giggle even today.