NEWS FROM THE HILLS

COME LITTLE LEAVES

 

“Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day
Come o’er the meadows with me and play;
Put on your dresses of red and gold
For summer is over and the days grow cold.”

 

Soon as the leaves heard the wind’s loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all,
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the glad little songs they knew.

 

“Cricket, good-bye, we’ve been friends so long,
Little brook sing us your farewell song,
Say you are sorry to see us go,
Ah, you will miss us, right well we know.”

 

“Dear little lambs in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
Fondly we watched you in vale and glade,
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?”

 

Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went,
Winter had called them, and they were content;
Soon, fast asleep in their earthy beds.
The snow laid a coverlid over their heads.

 

This was written by George Cooper and requested by Georgia Alexander of St. Albans.

 

This has been a week of glorious autumn weather, with spectacular sunsets and warm, glowing days. Some folks say that this is Indian summer, and perhaps it is. However, I haven’t seen the smoky blue shadows in the hollow of the hills that characterizes these halcyon days, or the foggy mornings before the sun blazes through the mist.

If this is not Indian summer, then we still have that soul-satisfying season ahead of us. These days have been wonderful, from start to finish. The shell pink sunrise at morning heralds another serene, sunny day, and the sunset in the western sky cannot be adequately described.

I was watching one of these magnificent sunsets spread pink fingers across the horizon, which changed to charcoal gray before dissolving. Right in the middle of the rosy streaks, a bright star glimmered. A crescent moon stood on one point, and directly above the upper point was another vivid star.

The poem came to me, “Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me/ May there be no moaning of the bar, when I put out to sea . . .” (Alfred Lord Tennyson) I wondered if the bright star above the moon was indeed the evening star, so I contacted my expert on stars, Darren Porter of Kentucky.

He told me that the star above the waxing half moon was Jupiter, and it was Venus hanging in the sunset. What a wonderful world that God has made! I can agree with David in Psalms 95-1:8 which says, “O come, let us sing unto the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation.

“Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto Him with psalms. For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods. In His hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is His also. The sea is His, and He made it; and His hands formed the dry land.

O, come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our maker. For He is our God; and we are the people of His pasture, and the sheep of His hand. Today, if you hear His voice, harden not your heart.”

I looked at Pilot Knob, bathed in the soft pink aftermath of the sunset, and fervently thanked the Lord for the beauty He has made. Then I thanked Him again for placing me right here, in the midst of these glorious hills. I was born here, and the Lord willing, I will die here.

We received more poem words from Genevieve Racer of Scott Depot and Leila Paxton Given of Lewisburg. Marlene Potasnik Tanner of Nebo called with the words she had memorized and recited at various programs. (Complete with bib overalls and gum boots!) Many thanks to you all.

 

Here is the poem:

 

JEST ‘FORE CHRISTMAS

 

Father calls me William, Sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain’t a girl—ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls and things that’s worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an’ go swimming in the lake—
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-ache!
Most all the time, the whole year ’round, there ain’t no flies on me,
But jest ‘fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be!

 

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat.
First thing she knows she doesn’t know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an’ when us kids go out to slide.
‘Long comes the grocery cart, an’ we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited and cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, and larrups up his ahoss,
An’ then I laugh an’ holler. “Oh , ye never teched me!”
But jest ‘fore Christmas, I’m as good as I kin be!

 

Gran’ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I’ll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibals that live in Ceylon’s Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an’ only man is vile!
But Gran’ma she has never been to see a Wild West Show.
Nor read the life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she’d know
That Buff’lo Bill an’ cowboys is good enough for me!
Excep’ jest ‘fore Christmas, when I’m good as I kin be!

 

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an’ still,
His eyes they seem a-sayin’: “What’s the matter, little Bill?”
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an’ wonders what’s become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an’ tend so earnestly to biz,
That Mother says to Father, “How improved our Willie is!”
But Father, havin’ been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When jest ‘fore Christmas, I’m good as I kin be!

 

For Christmas, with its lots and lots of candies, cakes an’ toys,
Was made, they say, for proper kids an’ not for naughty boys;
So wash yer face an’ bresh yer hair, an’ mind yer p’s and q’s,
Don’t bust out yer pantaloons, and don’t wear out yer shoes;
Say “Yessum” to the ladies, and “Yessur” to the men,
An’ when they’s company, don’t pass yer plate for pie again;
But, thinkin’ of the things yer’d like to see upon that tree,
Just ‘fore Christmas be as good as yer can be!

The Waynedale News Staff

Alyce Faye Bragg

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