Popping Corn

Anonymous

AND there they sat, a-popping corn,

John Styles and Susan Cutter—

John Styles as fat as any ox,

And Susan fat as butter.

And there they sat and shelled the corn,

And raked and stirred the fire,

And talked of different kinds of corn,

And hitched their chairs up nigher.

Then Susan she the popper shook,

Then John he shook the popper,

Till both their faces grew as red

As saucepans made of copper.

And then they shelled, and popped, and ate,

All kinds of fun a-poking,

While he haw-hawed at her remarks,

And she laughed at his joking.

And still they popped, and still they ate—

John’s mouth was like a hopper—

And stirred the fire, and sprinkled salt,

And shook and shook the popper.

The clock struck nine—the clock struck ten,

And still the corn kept popping;

It struck eleven, and then struck twelve,

And still no signs of stopping.

And John he ate, and Sue she thought—

The corn did pop and patter—

Till John cried out, “The corn ’s a-fire!

Why, Susan, what ’s the matter?”

Said she, “John Styles, it ’s one o’clock;

You ’ll die of indigestion;

I ’m sick of all this popping corn—

Why don’t you pop the question?”