Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Armistead ChurchillGordon1242 Kree
M
He played wid you when you was a chile?
You an’ he
Growed up tergether? Wait! Lemme see!
Closer! so I can look in yer face!—
Mars’ George’s smile!
Lord love you, Marster!
Dar ’neaf dat cypress is whar Kree lays.
Mars’ George, I shudden ha’ knowed you, son,
’Count o’ de beard dat yer face has on,
But for dat ole-time smile o’ your’n—
“An’ Kree?” you say.
Had n’t you heerd, Marster,
He ’ceasded de year dat you went away?
How de ole times comes back onst mo’—
Moonlight fishin’s, an’ hyars in de sno’;
Squirrels an’ jaybirds up overhead,
In de oak-trees dat de sun shined through!—
Look at me, Marster!
Here is me livin’; an’ Kree, he ’s dead.
Now, when I thinks on ’em, dose ole years:
Mars’ George, sometimes de b’ilin’ tears
Fills up my eyes,
’Count o’ de mizery now, an’ de change—
De sun dims, Marster,
Ter an ole man, when his one boy dies.
Out in de dug-out, one moonshine night,
Fishin’ wid your baby brother—he
Wid de curls o’ yaller, like streaks o’ light,
An’ de dancin’ big blue eyes. Dead, now—
Kree died for him;
An’ yearnin’ for Kree,
De Lord tuk him, Marster:
De green grass kivers ’em bofe f’om sight.
Did n’ know Kree was de one dat drowned
Sav’n’ Mars’ Charley? Well, ’t were he.
De boy waxed weaker, his face mo’ pale,
Arter de corpse o’ poor Kree were found.
Two months later he went, you see:
God bless you, Marster!
Nine years has rolled over bofe onder ground.
Here I sets waitin’, Mars’ George, alone.
All on ’em’s gone—
Marster an’ Mistis, an’ Charley an’ he.
You an’ me only is lef’. Some day,
When you ’s gone back ter yer ship on de sea,
I ’ll hear him say,
Jes’ as he used ter, a-fishin’, ter me:
“Daddy, come over!” An’ passin’ away,
Dat side de river, again I ’ll be
Wid my boy Kree.